Tyb. I am for you.

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

[Drawing.

Mer. Come, Sir, your paffado. [Mer. and Tyb. fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio- beat down their weaponsGentlemen for fhame, forbear this outrage

Tybalt -Mercutio- the Prince exprefly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets.

good Mercutio.

Mer. I am hurt

A plague of both the houses! I am sped:
Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben. What, art thou hurt?

[Exit Tybalt,

Mer. Ay, ay, a fcratch, a fcratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? go, villain, fetch a furgeon. Rom. Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.

morrow,

and

you

Mer. No, 'tis not fo deep as a well, nor fo wide as a church-door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to fhall find me a grave man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world: a plague of both your houfes! What? a dog, a rat, a moufe, a cat, to fcratch a man to death? a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetick? why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.

Rom. I thought all for the beft.

Mer. Help me into fome house, Benvolio, Or I fhall faint; a plague o'both your houses! They have made worms-meat of

me,

I have it, and foundly too. Plague o' your houfes !

[Exe. Mer. Ben. Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near allie,

My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt

In my behalf; my reputation ftain'd
With Tybalt's flander; Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my coufin: Ofweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper foftned valour's fteel.

Enter Benvolio.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant fpirit hath afpir'd the clouds,

Which too untimely dere difcorn the earth.

Rom. This day's black fate on more days does de

pend;

This but begins the woe, others must end.

Enter Tybalt.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive? in Triumph? and M.rcutio flain?
Away to heav'n respective lenity,

And fire ey'd fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'ft me; for Mercutio's foul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company:
Or thou or I, or both, muft go with him.

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didft confort him here, Shalt with him hence.

Rom. This fhall determine that.

Ben. Romeo, away, be gone:

[They fight, Tybalt falls.

The citizens are up, and Tybalt flain →→→→→

Stand not amaz'd; the Prince will doom thee death,
If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away.

Rom. O! I am fortune's fool.

Ben. Why doft thou stay?

Enter Citizens.

[Exit Romeo.

Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lyes that Tybalt.

Cit. Up, Sir, go with me:

I charge thee in the Prince's name, obey.

Enter Prince, Montague, Capulet, their wives, &c. Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Ben. O noble Prince, I can discover all Th' unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man flain by young Romeo, That flew thy kinfman brave Mercutio.

La. Cap.

La. Cap. Tybalt, my coufin! O my brother's child!Unhappy fight! alas, the blood is spill'd

Of my dear kinfman Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, fhed blood of Montague.

Prin. Benvolio, who began this fray?

Ben. Tybalt here flain, whom Romeo's hand did flay:
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure: all this uttered

;

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace; but that he tilts
With piercing fteel at bold Mercutio's breast
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And with a martial fcorn, with one hand beats
Cold death afide, and with the other fends
It back to Tybalt, whofe dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,

Hold, friends! friends, part! and, fwifter than his tongue,

His agil arm beats down their fatal points,

And 'twixt them rufhes; underneath whofe arm

An envious thruft from Tybalt hit the life
Of ftout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning: for ere I
Could draw to part them, was ftout Tybalt flain;
And as he fell, did Romeo turn to fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap. He is a kinfman to the Montague.
Affection makes him falfe, he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them fought in this black ftrife,
And all thofe twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;
Romeo new Tybalt, Romeo muft not live.

Prin. Romeo flew him, he flew Mercutio;

Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe.

La. Mont. Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law fhould end,

The life of Tybalt.

VOL. VII.

Prin. And for that offence,

Immediately we do exile him hence:

I have an intereft in your hearts proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lye a bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,

That you

fhall all repent the lofs of mine.

I will be deaf to pleading and excufes,
Nor tears nor prayers fhall purchase out abuses;
Therefore use none; let Romeo hence in hafte,
Elfe, when he's found, that hour is his laft.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will:
"Mercy but murthers, pardoning those that kill."

(2)

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to an Apartment in Capulet's

Jul.

G

Houfe

a

ALLOP apace, you fiery afooted steeds,
Tow'rds Phœbus' manfion; fuch a waggoner,

As Phaeton, would whip you to the weft,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.

Spread thy clofe curtain, love performing night, (22)
That th' Run away's eyes may wink; and Romeo

Leap

(21) Elfe, when he is found, that hour is bis laft] It is wonderful that Mr. Pope fhould retort the Want of Ear upon any body, and pass such an inharmonious unfcanning Verse in his own Ear: a Verfe, that cannot run off from the Tongue with any Cadence of Musick, the short and long Syllables stand so perverfely. We muft read,

Elfe, when he's found, that Hour is his laft.

འ། ་

Every diligent and knowing Reader of our Poet muft have observ'd, that Hour and Fire are almoft perpetually diffyllables in the pronounciation and Scanfion of his Verses.

(22) Spread thy clofe Curtain, love-performing Night,

That runaways Eyes may wink ;] What Runaways are these, whose Eyes Juliet is wishing to have ftopt? Macbeth, we may remember, makes an Invocation to Night, much in the fame Strain:

Come, feeling Night,

Scarf up the tender Eye of pitifull day, &c.

So Fuliet here would have Night's Darkness obfcure the great Eye of the Day, the Sun; whom confidering in a poetical Light as Phoebus,

drawn

Leap to these arms, untalkt of and unfeen.
Lovers can fee to do their am'rous rites
By their own beauties: or if love be blind,
It beft agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou fober-fuited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lofe a winning match,
Plaid for a pair of stainless maidenheads.

Hood my unmann'd blood baiting in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; 'till ftrange love, grown bold,
Thinks true love acted, fimple modefty.

Come, night, come, Romeo! come, thou day in night!
For thou wilt lye upon the wings of night,
Whiter than fnow upon a raven's back:

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night!
Give me my Romeo, and, when he fhall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heav'n fo fine,
That all the world fhall be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish fun.
O, I have bought the manfion of a love,
But not poffefs'd it; and though I am fold,
Not yet enjoy'd; fo tedious is this day,
As is the night before fome feftival,

To an impatient child that hath new robes,

And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse!

Enter Nurfe with cords.

And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks
But Romeo's name, fpeaks heav'nly eloquence;

Now, nurfe, what news? what haft thou there?
The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurfe. Ay, ay, the cords.

Jul. Ay me, what news?

Why doft thou wring thy hands?

Nurfe. Ah welladay, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

drawn in his Carr with fiery-footed Steeds, and pofting thro' the Heav'ns, She very properly calls him, with regard to the Swiftnefs of his Courfe, the Runaway. In the like Manner our Poet speaks of the Night, in the Merchant of Venice.

For the clafe Night doth play the Runaway.

Mr. Warburton.