Puslapio vaizdai
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Enter old Montague, and lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain, Caputet

Hold me not, let me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

Enter Prince, with attendants.
Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this neighbour-stained steel
Will they not hear? what ho, you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins ;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the Quiet of our streets ;
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Caft by their grave, beseeming, ornaments ;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away,
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
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 set this antient quarrel new abroach ; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, clofe fighting, ere I did approach ;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt

, with his sword prepar’d,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds:
Who, nothing hurt withal,' hiss'd him in Scorn.

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your son,

While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
'Till the Prince came, who parted either Part.

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 fy camour,
That westward rootech from the City side,
So early walking did I see .
Tow'rds him I made ; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are busied when they're most alone,)
Pursued my humour, not pursuing him ; (3)
And gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;
Adding to Clouds more Clouds with his deep Sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering Sun
Should, in the farthest east, begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed ;
Away from Light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,

(2)

an hour before the worship'd Sun Peer'd thro' 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 subsequent Inftance. What, in Company an Hour before Daylight ? What odd kind of Companions must this Benvolio have consorted with ? This Reading very reasonably seduced Mr. Warburton into an ingenious Conjecture ;

A troubled mind drew me from Canopy : i. e. from Bed. But I have restor’d the Text of all the old Copies. Benvolio, being troubled and not able to sleep, rose an Hour before Day and went into the open Air to amuse himself.

(3) Pursued my humour, not pursuing his.] But Benvolio did pursue bis ; for Romeo had a Mind to be alone, so had Benvolio : and therefore as Dr. Thirlby accurately observes, we ought to correct, He did not pursue Romeo.

I 2

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And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel 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 my self and many other friends ;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not say, how true ;
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding 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 Sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.
Ben. See; where he comes: so please you, step aside,
I'll know his grievance, or be much deny’d.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy Stay
To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away. (Exe.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours seem long!
Was that my father, that went hence so fast?

(4) As is the Bud, bit with an envious Worm, Ere he can spread his sweet Leaves to the Air,

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Same.] To the same? - Sure, all the Lovers of Shakespeare and Poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, draging Parapleromatic; as the Grammarians style it.

But our Author generally in his Similies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have overcharg'd this so insipidly. When we come to consider, that there is some power else besides balmy Air, that brings forth, and makes the tender Buds spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote ;

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Sun.
Or, according to the more obsolete Spelling, Sunne ; which brings it
nearer to the Traces of the corrupted Text. I propos’d this conjectural
Emendation in the Appendix to my SHAKE S P EAR E rejior'd, and
Mr. Pope has embraced it in his last Edition.

Den.

Ben. It was: what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ?
Rom. Not having That, which, having, makes them

short.
Ben. In love ?
Rom. Out.
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffied still,
Should without eyes see path ways to his will!
Where shall 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 first create !
O heavy lightness! ferious vanity!
Mif-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking Neep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, 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 oppression.

Rom. Why, such is Love's Transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them prest
With more of thine ; this love, that thou hast shewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais’d with the fume of sighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes ;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers tears;
What is it else ? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet :
Farewel, my cousin.

(Going. Ben. Soft, I'll go along. And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut! I have lost my self, I am not here; my

This

I 3

4

And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel 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 my self and many other friends ;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not say, how true ;
But to himself so secret and so 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 Sun.
Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.
Ben. See; where he comes: so please you, step aside,
I'll know his grievance, or be much deny’d.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy Stay
To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away. (Exe.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin,
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new ftruck nine:

Rom. Ah me, sad hours seem long!
Was that my father, that went hence so fast?

U

(4) As is the Bud, bit with an envious Worm, Ere he can spread his fweet Leaves to the Air,

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Same.] To the same? Sure, all the Lovers of Shakespeare and Poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, draging Parapleromatic; as the Grammarians style it.

But our Author generally in his Similies is accurate in the cleathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have overcharg'd this fo infipidly. When we come to consider, that there is some power else belides balmy Air, that brings forth, and makes the tender Buds spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote ;

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Sun.
Or, according to the more obsolete Spelling, Sunne ; which brings it
nearer to the Traces of the corrupted Text. I propos’d this conjectural
Emendation in the Appendix to my SHAKE S PEAR E rejior’d, and
Mr. Pope has embraced it in his last Edition.

Ben. .

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