Puslapio vaizdai

SCENE VI. Violent Delights, not lasting,
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder,
Which as they meet, consume.

Lovers, light of Foot,

O so light of foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint A lover may bestride the gossamour, That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall, fo light is vanity

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A Lover's Impatience. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steeds, To Phoebus manfion; such a waggoner As Phaeton, would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That (5) th’rùn-aways eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalkt of, and unieen, Lovers fie to do their am rous rites By their own beauties: or, it love be blind; It belt agrees with night.


(5) The run-aways, &c.] that is, the sun': whom he elegantly calls the run-away, in reference to the poetical account of the sun driving his chariot of light thro? the heavens, and running down to the west from the eyes of mortals to the arms of his celeftial mistress,


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SCENE V. Romeo, on his Banifoment...!

SCENE, The monastry.

Romeo and the Friar. Rom. (6) Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay death; For exile hath more terror in his look Than death itself. Do not say banishment,

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished, is banish'd from the world,
And world-exil'd is death; that banished,
Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden ax,
And smil'lt


the stroke that murthers me.
Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness !
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind prince
Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment ;
This is dear mercy, and thou feest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here :
Where Jaliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little moufe, every unworthy thing
Lives here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion Alies, than Romeo : they may seize.
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips ;
But Romeo may not, he is banished!
O father, hadst thou no strong poison mixt,

(6) Ha, &c.] The reader will find in the 131f page of the firè volume, a passage or two, that well deserve to be compar’d. with this before us,


No Sharp-ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal ?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how haft thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghoftly confeffor,
A fin-abfolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment ?

Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak
Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment.

Fri. I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Rom. Yet banished ? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more-

Eri. O then I see that mad-men have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have

no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy eftate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not

feel : Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tibalt murthered, Doting like me, and like me banished ; Then might't thou speak, then might'it thou tear thy

hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an un-made grave.


SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber, looking to the

Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window ; a ladder

of ropes fet. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: (7) It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly the fings on yond pomgranate tree; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. (8) Look, love, what envious freaks


(7) It was, &c. The poets abound with numberless fimilies and frequent mention of the nightingale : the. as well at the close of the evening when she fings, seems to have been a favorite of Milton : the passages in his works are well known; the following fine fimile, tho' perhaps not so apt to our present purpose, yet as little known, I cannot help recommending :

I have heard
Two emulous philomels beat the ear of night
With their contentious throats, now one the higher,
Anon the other, then again the first,
And by and by out-breasted, that the sense,
Could not be judge between them : so, &c.

See Two noble Kinsmen, A. 5. Sc. 3. (8) Look, &c.] The poets in general seem to have exerted them selves in their description of the morning : the English may juftly claim the preference over the Greeks and Romans, and Shakespear I think over all : the present paslage is sufficient to set in competition with all we can produce : and the reader by referring to the index will find many others, equally beautiful. However, according to my promise, (see vol. 1. p. 86. n.12.) I must remember to quote fome descriptions, the better to set forth Shakespear's superior excellence : llamer has led the way, and in almost innumerable places, spoken of the morning as a goddess or divine person flying in the air unbarring the gates of light, and opening the day. She is drawn by him in a saffron robe, and with rofy hands (ροδοδακτυλG- which is epithet he almost constantly bestows upon her, and perhaps may vie with any other however beautiful) sprinkling light' thro' the earth. She arises out of the waves of the sea, leaves the bed of Titbon her lover, ascends


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Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east :
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tip-toe on the misty mountain tops,
I'must be gone and live, or stay and dye.

Jul. the heavens, appears to gods and men, and gives notice of the sun's rising. She is placed by the father of the poets sometimes on a throne of gold ; now in a chariot drawn by swift horses, and bearing along with her the day ; and at other times she is ushered in by the star, which is her harbinger, and which gives the signal of the morning's approach,---On this as a ground. the poets fol. lowing Homer, have run their divisions of fancy : this will appear by the following instances,” &c.. See Lay Monastery, p. 229. See Dryden's Virgil for the ensuing ;

Aurora now had left her saffron-bed,
And beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread.
And now the rosy morn began to rise,
And wav'd her saffron-streamer thro' the skies.
Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon's bed,
And with the dawn of day the skies o'erspread :
Nor long the sun his daily course witheld
But added colours to the world reveal'd.
The morn ensuing from the mountains height,
Had scarcely spread the skies with rofy light:
Th'etherial coursers bounding from the sea,

From out their flaming nostrils breath'd the day.
Ovid by Trap,

Lo from the rofy East her purple doors,
The morn unfolds adorn'd with blushing flowers,
The lefsen'd stars draw off and disappear,
Whose bright battalions, lastly Lucifer,

Brings up, and quits his station in the rear.
Taj), by Fairfax.

The purple morning left her crimson bed,
And donn'd her robes of pure vermilion hue:
Her amber locks the crown'd with roses red,

In Edens flow'ry gardens gather'd new.
Spenfer, in his Faerie Queene.

Now when the rosy-finger'd morning fair,
Weary of aged Tilbons saffron bed,
Had spread her purple robes thro' dewy air,
And the high hills Titan discovered,
The royal virgin, &c.
At last the golden oriental gate
Of greatest heaven 'gan to open fair
And Pbæbus fresh as bridegroom to his mate

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