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Cap. Ha! let me see her:-out, alas ! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated :
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man!

Nurse. O lamentable day!
La. Cap. O woful time!
Cap. Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me

Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

Enter friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians. Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. 20 lon, the night before thy wedding-day Hath death lain with thy wife.-See, there she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered now by hini. 3 Death is my fon-in-law, death is my heir ; My daughter he hath wedded! I will die, And leave him all; life leaving, all is death’s.

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face4, And doth it give me such a sight as this ?

La. Cap. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour, that time e'er saw,

2 O son, the night before thy wedding-day

Hath death lain with thy wife.-) Euripides has sported with this thought in the same manner. Iphig. in Aul. v. 460.

• Τηνι' αυταλαιναν παρθενον (τι παρθενον) ?

« ΑΓης μιν, ως έoικε νυμφευσει ταχα.” RAWLINSON. 3 Death is my son-in-law, &c.] The remaining part of the speech I have reitored from the quarto, 1609. STEEVENS. * The quarto, 1597, continues the speech of Paris thus :

And doth it now present such prodigies ?
Accurft, unhappy, miserable man,
Forlorn, forsaken, destitute I am;
Born to the world to be a llave in it:
Diftreit, remedileís, unfortunate.
Oh heavens! Oh nature! wherefore did you make me
To live so vile, so wretched as I shall? STEEVENS.

In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.

Nurse. 5 O woe! oh woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day! most woful day!
That ever, ever, I did


Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this.
Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par. Beguild, divorced, wronged, spighted, Nain!
Molt detestable Death, by thee beguild,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life!--not life, but love in death!

Cap. Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Uncomfortable time! why cam'ít thou now
To murder, murder our folemnity ? -
O child ! O child! my soul, and not my child !
Dead art thou! alack! my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried.
Fri. 6 Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure

lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself

in this fair maid; now heaven hath all;


so wee! oh woful, &c.] This speech of exclamations is not in the edition above cited. Several other parts, unnecessary or tautology, are not to be found in the said edition; which occasions the variation in this from the common books. Pope. • In former editions,

Peace, ho, for foame, confusions : care lives not

In these confufions.) This speech, though it contains good Chriftian doctrine, though it is perfectly in character for the Friar, Mr. Pope has curtailed to little or nothing, because it has not the fanction of the first old copy. But there was another reason : certain corruptions started, which should have required the indulging his private sense to make them intelligible, and this was an unreasonable labour. As I have reformed the passage above quoted, I dare warrant I have reftored our poet's text; and a fine fenfible reproof it contains against immcderate grief. THEOBALD,


H 3

And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death ;
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most, you fought was, her promotion ;
For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep you now, seeing. she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
Oh, in this love you love your child fo ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
She's not well married, that lives married long;
But she's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array, bear her to church :
7 For tho' fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Cap. All things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our initruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a sad funeral feast;
Our solenn hymns, to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse;
And all things change them to the contrary:

Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her

grave. The heavens do lower upon you, for some ill; Move them no more, by crossing their high will.

[Exeunt Capulet, lady Capulet, Paris, and Frier. Muf. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful cafe.

[Exit Nurje.

? For tho' some nature bids us all lament,] Seme nature ? Sure, it is the general rule of nature, or the could not bid us all lament. I have ventured to substitute an epithet, which, I suspect, was lost in the idle corrupted word jome; and which admirably quadrates with the verse fucceeding this. THEOB.

Muf Muf. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. .

Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, oh, musicians, heart's ease, heart's

ease : Oh, an you will have me live, play heart's ease.

Muf. Why, heart's ease. Pet. O musicians, because my heart itself plays,& My heart itself is full of woe. 90, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.

Muf. · Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?
Muf. No.
Pet. I will then give it you foundly.
Muf. What will you give us ?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleck. I will give you the minstrel. Muf

. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you,


you note me? Muf. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will drybeat

you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :

-answer me like men:

I'll fa you,

3 My beart itself is full of woe.) This, if I mistake not, is the beginning of an old ballad. Steevens.

90, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.] This is not in the folio, but the answer plainly requires it. Johnson.

' A dump anciently signified fame kind of dance, as well as forrow. So in Humour out of Breath, a comedy, by John Day, 1607 :

He loves nothing but an Italian dump,
" Or a French brawl." STEEVENS.

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When griping grief the beart dotb wound,

2 And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Tben mufick with ber filver found Why silver found! why, mufick with her silver found ? What say you, Simon Catling?

'i Muf. Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pratest! What say you, 3 Hugh Rebeck ?

2 Muf. I say filver found, because musicians found for silver.

Pet. Pratest too! What say you, James SoundBoard ?

3 Mus. ’Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the finger : I will say for you. It is, musick with her silver found, because musicians have no gold for founding. Then mufick with her silver found

With speedy belp doth lend redress. [Exit finging. Muf. What a pestilent knave is this fame?

2 Muf. Hang him, Jack! come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.

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? This line I have recovered from the old copy, which was wanting to complete the stanza as it is afterwards repeated.

STEEVENS. 3 Hugh Rebeck ?] The fidler is so called from an instrument with three ftrings, which is mentioned by several of the old writers.--So in Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Peftle :

'Tis present death for these fidlers to tune their “ rebecks before the Great Turk's grace."

grace." STEEV,


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