It best agrees with night.-Come, civil night,2 Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day in night! For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night night, Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die, To an impatient child, that hath new robes, Enter Nurse, with Cords. And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there, the cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch? 2 Come, civil night,] Civil is grave, decently solemn. Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,] These are terms of falconry. An unmanned hawk is one that is not brought to endure company. Buting, (not baiting, as it has hitherto been printed,) is fluttering with the wings as striving to fly away. the garish sun,] Garish is gaudy, showy. Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. Jul. Ah me! what news! why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse. Ah well-a-day! 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! Romeo can, Though heaven cannot:-O Romeo! Romeo!- Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I. Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,- at once! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; say thou but I,] In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling. "God save the mark!] This proverbial exclamation occurs again, with equal obscurity, in Othello, Act I. sc. i. Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?— Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Nurse. Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd VOL. X. G O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? Jul. Shall I speak 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 cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 7- what tongue shall smooth thy name,] To smooth, in ancient language, is to stroke, to caress, to fondle. 8 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.] That is, is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts. 9 Which modern lamentation, &c.] i. e. trite, common. All slain, all dead:-Romeo is banished,— Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords:-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. SCENE III. Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO. [Exeunt. 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 doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, |