Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE, with Lanthorn, Crow, and

Spade.

Fri. St. Francis be my speed: how oft to-night, Have my old feet stumbled at graves! who's there? Alack! alack! what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre?

Jul. Who's there?

Fri. Ah, Juliet awake, and Romeo dead! And Paris too!---Oh, what unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance?

Jul. Here he is still, and I will hold him fast; They shall not tear him from me—

Fri. Patience, lady

Jul. Who is that? O, thou cursed Friar! patience! Talk'st thou of patience to a wretch like me!

Fri. O, fatal error! rise, thou fair distress'd,

And fly this scene of death!

Jul. Come thou not near me,

Or this dagger shall quit my Romeo's death!

[Draws a Dagger. Fri. I wonder not thy griefs have made thee desperate.

What noise without? sweet Juliet, let us fly-
A greater Power than we can contradict

Hath thwarted our intents-come, haste away,
I will dispose thee, most unhappy lady,
Amongst a sisterhood of holy nuns :

Stay not to question-for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet-I dare no longer stay. [Exit.
Jul. Go, get thee hence, I will not away-
What's here! a phial-Romeo's timeless end.
O churl, drink all, and leave no friendly drop
To help me after!-I will kiss thy lips,
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them-
[Kisses him,
Prince. [Without.] Lead, boy, which way→→→
Jul. Noise again!

Then I'll be brief--Oh, happy dagger!
This is thy sheath, there rest, and let me die.

[Kills herself.

Enter the PRINCE, BALTHASAR, and ATTENDANTS, with the FRIAR.

Prince. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from its morning rest?

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad!

The people in the street cry, Romeo!

Some, Juliet! and some, Paris! and all run
With open outcry tow'rds our monument.

Prince. What fear is this, which startles in your

ears?

Bal. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, And Romeo dead-Juliet, thought dead before, Is warm, and newly kill'd

Cap. Oh me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre,

Enter MONTAGUE.

Prince. Come, Montague, for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir now early fall'n.

Mont. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath. What farther woe conspires against my age! Prince. Look there-and see

Mont. Oh, thou untaught, what manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave!

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,

Till we can clear these ambiguities,

And know their spring and head-meantime forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of suspicion,

Fri. I am the greatest.

Prince. Then say, at once, what thou dost know of this.

Fri, Let us retire from this dread scene of death, And I'll unfold the whole; if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrific'd, some hours before its time, Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prince, We still have known thee for a holy man, Let Romeo's man, and let the boy attend us: We'll hence, and farther scan these sad disasters: Well may ye mourn, my lords, (now wise too late) These tragic issues of your mutual hate: From private feuds, what dire misfortunes flow! Whate'er the cause, the sure effect is woe,

[Exeunt Omnes.

THE END,

PRINCE OF DENMARK;

A TRAGEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS;

AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL

COVENT GARDEN AND DRURY LANE.

BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS

FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS

BY MRS. INCHBALD.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER ROW.