« ZurückWeiter »
SCENE VI. Violent Delights, not lasting,
Lovers, light of Foot,
O so light of foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint A lover may bestride the gossamour, That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall, fo light is vanity
ACT III. SCEN E IV.
A Lover's Impatience. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steeds, To Phoebus manfion; such a waggoner As Phaeton, would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That (5) th’rùn-aways eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalkt of, and unieen, Lovers fie to do their am rous rites By their own beauties: or, it love be blind; It belt agrees with night.
(5) The run-aways, &c.] that is, the sun': whom he elegantly calls the run-away, in reference to the poetical account of the sun driving his chariot of light thro? the heavens, and running down to the west from the eyes of mortals to the arms of his celeftial mistress,
Scene V. Romeo, on his Banifoment
Scene, The monastry.
Romeo and the Friar.
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
purgatory, torture, hell itfelf.
the stroke that murthers me.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here -
(6) Ha, &c.] The reader will find in the 1318 page of the for volume, a passage or two, that well deserve to be compar'd with this before us, .
No Sharp-ground knife, no present means of death,
Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak
Fri. I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Rom. Yet banished ? hang up philosophy:
Eri. O then I see that mad-men have no ears.
no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy eftate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not
feel : Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tibalt murthered, Doting like me, and like me banished ; Then might't thou speak, then might'it thou tear thy
hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an un-made grave.
SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber, looking to the
Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window ; a ladder
of ropes fet. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: (7) It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly she fings on yond pomgranate tree; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. (8) Lock, love, what envious streaks
(7) It was, &c. The poets abound with numberless fimilies and frequent mention of the nightingale : the. as well at the close of the evening when she fings, seems to have been a favorite of Milton : the passages in his works are well known; the following fine fimile, tho' perhaps not so apt to our present purpose, yet as little known, I cannot help recommending :
I have heard
See Two noble Kinsmen, A. 5. Sc. 3. (8) Look, &c.] The poets in general seem to have exerted them selves in their description of the morning : the English may juftly claim the preference over the Greeks and Romans, and Shakespear I think over all : the present paslage is sufficient to set in competition with all we can produce : and the reader by referring to the index will find many others, equally beautiful. However, according to my promise, (see vol. 1. p. 86. n.12.) I must remember to quote fome descriptions, the better to set forth Shakespear's superior excellence : llamer has led the way, and in almost innumerable places, spoken of the morning as a goddess or divine person flying in the air unbarring the gates of light, and opening the day. She is drawn by him in a saffron robe, and with rofy hands (pode dartuxa which is the epithet he almoft conftantly bestows upon her, and perhaps may vie with any other however beautiful) sprinkling light' thro' the earth. She arises out of the waves of the sea, leaves the bed of Titbon her lover, ascends
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east :
Jul. the heavens, appears to gods and men, and gives notice of the sun's rising. She is placed by the father of the poets sometimes on a throne of gold ; now in a chariot drawn by swift horses, and bearing along with her the day ; and at other times she is ushered in by the star, which is her harbinger, and which gives the signal of the morning's approach,---On this as a ground. the poets fol. lowing Homer, have run their divisions of fancy : this will appear by the following instances,” &c.. See Lay Monastery, p. 229. See Dryden's Virgil for the ensuing ;
Aurora now had left her saffron-bed,
From out their flaming nostrils breath'd the day.
Lo from the rofy East her purple doors,
Brings up, and quits his station in the rear.
The purple morning left her crimson bed,
In Edens flow'ry gardens gather'd new.
Now when the rosy-finger'd morning fair,