« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well;
And hurles his gliftering beams thro gloomy air.
Now morn her rosy steps in the eafern olime
And now went forth the morn,
Shot thro' with orient beams. There is fomething rather too puerile (I think) in this conceit of Milcon's: Many more might be produced from each of these poets : I have only selected those where particular notice is taken of the morning as a person ; there are numberless admirable descriptions of the several circumstances that attend the rifing of the Day, which occafion many beautiful images, proper to the season; these would be too long to insert here ; I shall only add a few more lines from Beaumont and Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdefs; they likewise have many fine expressions of the morn, to fet in competition with their brother poets ; and which indeed of our English bards have not ? Taylor the Water-poet boasts, that he has expreft the rifong of the sun, the morning, (I think) a thousand different ways. The following is from the latter end of the 4th Act of the Faitbo ful Shepberdes.
See the day begins to break
Many a note and many a lay, Hence Milton took the hint of the following lines in his inimitable L'Allegro:
To hear the lark begin his fight
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go so foon.
Rom. Let me then stay, let me be ta’en and dye;
Juliet’s Soliloquy, on drinking the Potion. Farewel-God knows when we shall meet again! I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life. I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurfe what should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone : Come vial-what if this mixture do not work at all ? Shall I of force be marry'd to the count? No, no, this fall forbid it ; lye thou there
Pointing to a dagger. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath ministred, to have me dead, Left in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo ? I fear, it is; and yet, me thinks; it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man, How, if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Comes to redeem me? there's a fearful point ! Shall I not then be ftified in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there be ftrangled ere my Romeo comes ?
like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place, (As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these
many hundred years, the bones Of all
buried ancestors are packt;
[She throws herself on the bed.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Romeo's Defeription of, and Discourse with, the
(9) I do remember an apothecary,
(9) I do, &c.] Garth, in his dispensary, hath endeavoured to imitate this excellent description of Shakespear's: the lines thema Selves will be the best proof of his success :
His shop the gazing vulgars eyes employs,
In that, dry'd bladders, and drawn teeth are laid. Longinus recommends a judicious choice of the most suitable cir. cumstances, as elegantly productive of the sublime; Aion whether Dr. Garth's description will stand the test, thus conlider'd, particularly in the last circumstance,
I much ques
Enter Apothecary. Ap. Who calls so loud ?
Rom. Come hither, man ; I see, that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats ; let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding geer, As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead; And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath, As violently as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
Ap. Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them.
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
Ap. My povertys but not my will, consents.
Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to mens souls, Doing more murthers in this loathsom world, Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell: I fell thee poison, thou haft fold me none. Farewel, buy food, and get thee into fesh.