Puslapio vaizdai
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SCENE draws and difcovers Juliet on a bed.

Nurse. MIftrefs, what mittress! Juliet—Fast, I

her,

Why, lamb-why, lady-Fy, you flug-a bed-
Why, love, I fay-Madam, fweet-heart-why, bride—
What, not a word! you take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
That you fhall reft but little. God forgive me
Marry and amen
-How found is fhe asleep?
I must needs wake her: Madam, madam, madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed
He'll fright you up, i'faith. Will it not be ?
What, dreft, and in your cloaths

and down again!
I muft needs wake you: Lady, lady, lady,
Alas, alas! help! help! my lady's dead,
O well-a-day, that ever I was born?
Ho! my lord, my lady!

Enter Lady Capulet,

La. Cap. What noife is here?
Nurje. O lamentable day!
La. Cap. What is the matter!
Nurfe. Look,oh heavy day!

La. Cap. Oh me, my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee:
Help, help! call help.

Enter Capulet.

Cap. For fhame bring Juliet forth, her lord is come. Nurle. She's dead, fhe's dead: alack the day! Cop. Ha! let me fee her-Out alas, fhe's cold, Her blood is fettled, and her joints are stiff, Life and thefe lips have long been feparated: Death lies on her, like an untimely froft Upon the fweetest flower of the field. Accurfed time! unfortunate old man!

Exter

Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Musicians. Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. O fon, the night before the wedding-day Death has embrac'd thy wife: fee, there the lies. Flower as fhe was, nipp'd in the bud by him! Oh Juliet, oh my Child, Child !

Par. Have I thought long to fee this morning's face, And doth it give me fuch a fight as this?

La. Cap. Accurft, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Cap. Molt miferable hour, that Time e'er faw

In lafting labour of his pilgrimage.

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to enjoy and folace in,

And cruel death hath catcht it from my fight.

Fri. Your daughter lives in peace and happiness;
Heav'n and yourself had part in this fair maid,
Now, heav'n hath all- -dry up your fruitless tears;
Come, ftick your rofemary on this fair corps,
And as the custom of our country is,

Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.
Cap. All things that we ordained to festival,
Turn from their office to black funera.:
Our Inftruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a fad burial feast;
Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change;
And bridal flowers ferve for a buried coarse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri. Sir, go you in, and Madam go with him;
And go
Sir Paris, every one prepare
To follow this fair Coarfe unto her grave.
The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for fome ill;
Move them no more by croffing their high will.

[Exeunt

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ACT V. SCENE I.

The infide of a Church.

Enter the funeral proceffion of Juliet, in which the following Dirge is fung.

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She's gore-the faweeteft fow'r of May,

That blooming bleft our fight;

Those eyes

aubich fhone like breaking day,

Are fet in endless night!

CHORU S.

Rife, rife! &c.

AIR.

She's gone, fhe's g ne, nor leaves behind
So fair a form, so pure a mind;

How could thou, Death, at once deflroy,
The Lover's hope, the Parent's joy?

CHORU S.

Rife, Rife! &c.

AIR.

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F may truft the flattery of fleep,
I'My dreams prefage fome joyful news at hand:

My bofom's lord fits lightly on his throne,
And all this day, an unaccuftom'd fpirit

Lifts me above the ground with chearful thought.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead,
And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are fo rich in joy?

Enter Balthazar

News from Verona How now, Balthazar ?
Doft thou not bring me Letters from the Friar ?
How doth my lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again,
For nothing can be ill, if the be well.

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill,
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I saw her carried to her kindred's vault,
And presently took poft to tell it you:
O, pardon me for bringing thefe ill news.
Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, fiars!
Bal, My Lord!

Roms

Rom. Thou know'ft my lodging, get me ink and paper, And hire post-horfes. I will hence to-night.

Bal. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some mifadventure

Rom. Go, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Haft thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Bal. No, good my Lord.

Rom. No matter: Get thee gone,

And hire those horses, I'll be with thee ftraight.

Let's fee for means

[Exit Balthazar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to night; O mischief! thou art swift To enter in the thought of defperate men! I do remember an Apothecary, ́ ́And hereabout he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks, Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung, An alligator ftuft, and other skins Of ill-fhap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes;

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Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a fhew.
Noting his penury, to myself I faid,

An' if a man did need a poifon now,

Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.

Oh this fame thought did but forerun my need,
As I remember this fhould be the house.

Being holy-day, the beggar's shop is fhut.
What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.

Ap, Who calls so loud ?

Ram Come hither, man; I fee that thou art poor; Hold, there are forty ducats: let me have A dram of poifon, fuch foon-speeding geer, As will difperfe itself thro' all the veins, That the life-weary Taker may foon die.

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