So fhews a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of Stand, AT
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forfwear it, fight;
I never faw true beauty 'till this night,

Tyb. This by his voice should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What! dares the flave Come hither cover'd with an antick face, To fleer and scorn at our folemnity? Now by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a fin."

Cap. Why, how now, kinfman, wherefore ftorm you fo?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:
A villain, that is hither come in fpight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo:

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone
He bears him like a portly Gentleman :
And, to fay truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my houfe, do him difparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him;"
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a fair prefence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-befeeming femblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when fuch a villain is a guest,
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He fhall be endur'd.

What, goodman boy-I fay, he fhall.
Am I the mafter here, or you? go to

Go to

You'll not endure him? God fhall mend my foul.
You'll make a mutiny among my guests?

You will fit cock-a-hoop? You'll be the man?

Tyb.

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

Cap. Go to, go to,.

You are a faucy boy-is't fo, indeed

This trick may chance to fcathe
chance to fcathe you. I know what.
You must contrary me? Marry, 'tis time.

Well faid, my hearts :-You are a Princox, go:
Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for fhame-
I'll make you quiet-What? cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different Greeting.
I will withdraw; but this intrusion fhall,'
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
[To Juliet.
This holy fhrine, the gentle Fine is this;
My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready stand,

To fmooth that rough Touch with a tender kiss. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion fhews in this;

For Saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kifs.

Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands. do:

They pray, grant thou, left faith turn to despair.

7 If I prophane with my un-
worthy band
This holy fhrine, the gentle Sin
is this,

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, &c.] All profanations are fuppos'd to be expiated either by fome meritorious action, or by fome penance undergone and pu

VOL. VIII.

nifhment fubmitted to. So, Romeo would here fay, If I have been profane in the rude touch of my hand, my lips ftands ready, as two blushing pilgrims, to take off that offence, to atone for it by a fweet penance. Our poet therefore must have wrote, -the gentle Fine is this. WARB.

D

Jul.

Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers fake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I

take:

Thus from my lips, by thine, my fin is purg'd.

[Kiffing her. Jul. Then have my lips the fin that late they took. Rom. Sin from my lips! O trefpafs, fweetly urg'd Give me my fin again.

Jul. You kifs by th' book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with

you.

Rom. What is her mother?

Nurfe. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

To her Nurfe.

And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is the a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the fport is at the beft.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear, the more is my unrest.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.

Is it e'en fo? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honeft gentlemen, good night:
More torches here come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late.
I'll to my Rest.

[Exeunt.

Jul. Come hither, nurfe. What is yon gentleman ?

Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? Nurfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not

dance?

Nurfe.

Nurfe. I know not.

Jul. Go, afk his name.

-If he be married,

My Grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,

The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate;
Too early feen, unknown, and known too late
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? what's this?
ful. A rhyme I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.

Nurse. Anon, anon

[One calls within, Juliet.

Come, let's away, the ftrangers all are gone.

[Exeunt.

8
Enter CHORUS.

Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie,
And young Affection gapes to be his heir;
That Fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would
die,

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks:

But to his foe fuppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's fweet bait from fearful hooks.

Being held a foe, he may not have accefs

To breathe fuch vows as lovers use to swear; And fhe, as much in love, her means much less, To meet her new-beloved any where:

CHORUS.] This chorus added fince the first edition. POPE. Chorus. The ufe of this chorus is not easily discovered, it conduces nothing to the progrefs

D

of the play, but relates what is
already known, or what the
next fcenes will fhew; and relates
it without adding the improve-
ment of any moral fentiment.
2

But

But Paffion lends them power, Time means, to

C

ΑΝΙ go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out..

Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo.

Mer. He is wife,

And, on my life, hath ftol'n him home to bed.

[Exit.

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchardwall.

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh,
Speak but one Rhyme, and I am fatisfied.
Cry but Ab me! couple but love and dove,
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,

One