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Enter Prince, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this neighbour ftained steel

Will they not hear what ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains iffing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands
Throw your mif- temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens

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Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate;
If ever you disturb our ftreets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free town, our common judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c. La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adversary, And yours, clofe fighting, ere I did approach; I drew to part them: In the inftant came The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He fwung about his head, and cut the winds: Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn. While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

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La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to-day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun (2) Peer'd through the golden window of the East, A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad: Where underneath the grove of fycamour, That weftward rooteth from the city fide, So early walking did I fee your fon. Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And ftole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, (That most are bufied when they're most alone) Pursued my humour, not purfuing him; (3) And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew; Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs: But all fo foon as the all-cheering fun Should, in the fartheft eaft, begin to draw The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed; Away from light fteals home my heavy fon, And private in his chamber pens himself; Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out, And makes himself an artificial night.


an hour before the worshipp'd Sun

Peer'd through the golden window of the East,

A troubled mind drew me from company: This is a reading only of Mr. Pope's, as far as I can trace, who had a mind to make Benvolio a greater rake than we have reason to think him from any fubfequent inftance. What, in company an hour before day-light? What odd kind of companions must this Benvolio have conforted. with? This reading very reasonably feduced Mr. Warburton into an ingenious conjecture:

A troubled mind drew me from canopy:

i. e. from bed. But I have reftor'd the text of all the old copies. Benvolio, being troubled and not able to fleep, rofe an hour before day, and went into the open air to amuse himself.

(3) Purfued my bumour, not pursuing his.] But Benvolio did purfue. bis; for Romeo had a mind to be alone, fo had Benvolio: and therefore as Dr. Thirlby accurately observes, we ought to correct, He did not purfue Romeo.

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Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counfel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myfelf and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,

Is to himself, I will not fay, how true;
But to himself fo fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and discovery;

As is the bud bit with an envious worm, (4)
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

Ten. See, where he comes: fo please you, step afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny d.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy ftay To hear true fhrift. Come. Madam, let's away. [Exeunt. Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!
Was that my father that went hence fo faft?

(4) As is the bud, bit with an envious worm, Ere be can spread bis freet leaves to the air,

-Sure all the

Or dedicate ki beauty to the fame.] To the fame?lovers of Shakespeare and poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, dragging paraplerematic, as the grammarians ftyle it. But our Author generally in his fimilies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and there. fore, I believe, would not have overcharg'd this fo infipidly. When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote;

Or dedicate bis beauty to the fun.

Or, according to the more obfolete fpelling, funne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. I propos'd this conjectural emendation in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, and Mr. Pope has embrac'd it in his last edition.


Ben. It was: what fadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!


Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled ftill,
Should without eyes fee path-ways to his will!
Where fhall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
Oh, any thing of nothing firft create!

O heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity!

Mif-shapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright fmoke, cold fire, fick health! Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel, that feel no love in this.

Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

Rom. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine; this love, that thou haft fhewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg d, a fire fparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most difcreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet:
Farewel, my cousin.


Ben Soft, I'll go along.
And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have loft myself, I am not here;
This is not Romes, he's fome other where.
Ben. Tell me in fadnefs, who fhe is you love?


Rom. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?

Ben. Groan? why, no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadness make his will ?.
O word, ill-urg'd to one that is so ill!

In fadness, coufin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd

you lov'd.

Rom. A right good marks-man;--and fhe's fair, I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss;-fhe'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; fhe hath Dian's wit :
And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,

From love's weak childish bow, fhe lives unharm'd.
She will not ftay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.
O fhe is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when the dies, with her dies Beauty's ftore. (5)
Ben. Then the hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?
Rom. She hath, and in that fparing makes huge wafte.
For beauty ftarv'd with her severity,

Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs by making me despair;
She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now,

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I fhould forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers (exquifite) in queftion more:
Thofe happy masks, that kiis fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;

(5) That, when he dies, with beauty dies her ftore.] This conveys no fatisfactory idea to me, I have ventur'd at a flight tranfpofition, which gives a meaning, warranted, I think, by what Romeo fays in his very next speech. She is rich in beauty, and if he dies a maid, the cuts off that beauty from its fucceffion.

For beauty, farv'd with her feverity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.


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