being justified, on such an occasion, chiefly by its poetic beauty. This, however, is a great mistaking of Shakespeare's dramatic spirit. It is in earnest pursuit of his immediate purpose-to procure the means of self-destruction—that Romeo is led to glance rapidly over the picture of that "penury" which lately noting" he had said to himself— 66 An if a man did need a poison now, The same steady earnestness of purpose pervades every line of his dialogue with the Apothecary himself. Although, Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut, yet he proceeds at once to make his application, confident that the idea of a providential customer must bring the starving shopkeeper forth at his summons:What, ho! apothecary! Ap. Who calls so loud? Rom. Come hither, man.-I see that thou art poor.Hold, there is forty ducats.-Let me have A dram of poison-such soon-speeding geer As will disperse itself through all the veins, And that the trunk may be discharg❜d of breath Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he, that utters them. Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged misery; The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; *Not "Whose sale were present death in Mantua," as it is constantly given in the "acting play." This is one of those seemingly slight verbal alterations which involve an essential perversion of the meaning of a passage. Romeo is in no state of mind to be idly speculating upon contingent obstacles, as we see that even Coleridge suspects him of doing. It is his knowledge that the sale of poisons is certainly prohibited in Mantua by a standing law, that gives to his descriptive soliloquy that perfect dramatic propriety which has been somewhat idly though very generally contested. The world affords no law to make thee rich; In all this scene, the tenacious clinging to life which mere physical destitution commonly exhibits, throws into more prominent relief that eager longing for death which attends the pure desolation of the heart. To lie in "Juliet's grave," we see, is Romeo's one unvarying end and purpose, to which every syllable of his well-argued pleading with the apothecary is strictly subservient. The same determined coolness of a deliberate and inexorable resolve-arguing strength, not weakness, of character-firmness, not rashness-comes out more strikingly and intensely, as the moment of its fulfilment approaches, in the parting scene with his servant Balthasar, at the burial-place of the Capulets: Give me that mattock, and the wrenching-iron.- See thou deliver it to my lord and father.- Why I descend into this bed of death, *Not "I pay thy poverty," as we always hear it so emphatically delivered on the stage,—as it is printed in most later editions,—and, we regret to see, is retained by Mr. Collier; while Mr. Knight very properly restores the reading of the second quarto and the first folio. Even without such strong documentary support, the first suggestion of the word pray, in this context, should have procured its adoption by every editor. The relation here is between Romeo's earnestly repeated prayer and the apothecary's consent: the moment for paying him is not yet arrived. Is, partly, to behold my lady's face; But chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger In dear employment. Therefore, hence, begone.— And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs : More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea! Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. that: Take thou Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. But this fatal fixedness of purpose exhibits itself most intensely of all in the scene that immediately follows with Paris, whom we find again thrusting himself where he has no business. How expressively are the two respective modes contrasted, in which the would-be husband and the real one regard their lady's sepulchre. The self-complacent prettiness of the count's Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal bed; sets off most admirably the passionate despair of Thou détestable maw, thou womb of death, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! But most effectively of all is the intensity of this final aspiration shown, in its struggle with and triumph over that inherent tenderness and generosity of the hero's nature which make him so earnestly conjure the intruding youth, whose identity he does not yet recognize, to molest him no further. With what consummate art does the following passage portray to us that impatient strife in his bosom, between the apprehension of being interrupted in his final irrevo cable act, and his reluctance to another deed of bloodshed: Par. Stay thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Rom. I must indeed, and therefore came I hither.- By urging me to fury.- -Oh, be gone! And do attach thee as a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me?—then, have at thee, boy! Par. Oh, I am slain ! Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. The obtrusive impertinence of this same county Paris, we see, is immortal, since it extends even into the tomb. That is the best that can be said for it. One must at least admire its invincible pertinacity;-at the same time that we, the auditory, who have witnessed his becoming the heartless instrument of the heroine's extremest torment, cannot but find our irritated feelings consoled by the fact that he receives his punishment at the hand which has the greatest right to inflict it. Romeo, however, has no cognizance of the offensive part which his antagonist has been acting towards his bride; and therefore, conformably to his nature, his exclamations over the corpse of Paris, when he has recognized him, are simply an effusion of the tenderest pity: Let me peruse this face.- He told me, Paris should have married Juliet. Said he not so? or did I dream it so ? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? -Oh, give me thy hand, A grave?-oh no, a lantern, slaughter'd youth, And now, for the first time since the morrow of their nuptials, he turns to gaze on Juliet, whose beauty, he has told us, makes the dark charnel-vault appear to him bright as a lighted banquet-room. On the point of her revival, "the roses" in her "lips and cheeks" have already replaced the "paly ashes" which the operation of the sleeping-draught had substituted for them. This little circumstance gives the crowning pathos to the scene; since it at once announces to the auditor her approaching resurrection, and lures her husband, as it were, the more seductively to his last fatal act: I How oft, when men are at the point of death, And Death's pale flag is not advanced there! Then comes the crowning instance of the hero's native gentleness and generosity, in his parting words to the corpse of the very man whose brutal malevolence has forced him into all this train of suffering: Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?- Than, with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, Forgive me, cousin! And now, two images alone remain to his contem * Merry- that is, cheerful. |