Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows fo contrary? Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Nurfe. It did, it did. Alas, the day! it did. Jul. O ferpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep fo fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish ravening lamb! Defpifed fubftance of divineft fhow! Juft oppofite to what thou justly seem'ft, A damned faint, an honourable villain! 8 In old editions, Ravenous dove, feather'd raven, &c.] The four following lines not in the first edition, as well as fome others which I have omitted. POPE. Ravenous dove, feather'd raven, Wolvi ravening lamb!] This paffage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the text, because these two noble hemiftichs are inharmonious: 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 is in his own mode of thinking, and truly worthy of him. Ravenous was blunderingly coined out of raven and ravening; and, if we only throw it out, we gain at once an harmonious verfe, and a proper contraft of epithets and images. Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-rav'ning lamb! THEOB. O nature! F 2 O nature what hadst thou to do in hell, Nurfe. There's no trust, No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd; Shame come to Romeo! 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 at him! 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 fhall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didft 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, miftaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain; Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death, Hath flain ten thoufand Tybalts. Tybalt's death And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Which modern lamentation might have mov'd: There is no end, no limit, meafure, bound, Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corfe. When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. He made you for a high-way to my bed; Come, Cords; come, Nurfe; I'll to my wedding-bed: Hark ye. Your Romeo will be here at night. I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. Jul. Oh find him! give this ring to my true knight; And bid him come to take his laft farewell. [Exeunt. 9 Hath fain ten thousand Tybalts.] Hath put Tybalt out of my mind, as if out of being. JOHNSON. Which modern lamentation, &c.] This line is left out of the later editions, I fuppofe becaufe the editors did not remeraber that Shakespeare ufes modern for commen, or fight: I believe it was in his time confounded in colloquial language with moderate. JOHNSON. SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter friar Laurence and Romeo. Fri. Romeo, 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 What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand, Fri. Too familiar Is my dear fon with fuch four company ? I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanifh'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. Hence-banifhed, is banish'd from the world; Rom. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy heaven is here, I Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And fay'st thou yet, that exile is not death? Hadft thou no poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife, O Friar, the damned ufe that word in hell; A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft, To mangle me with that word,-banifhment? Fri. Thou fond madman, hear me but fpeak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy, To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished. Rom. Yet, banifhed ?-hang up philosophy : Unless philofophy can make a Juliet, 1 More validity, More honourable ftate, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo.] Validity feems here to mean worth or dignity; and courtship the ftate of a courtier permitted to approach the highest prefence. JOHNSON. |