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Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well;
Came dancing forth fhaking his dewy hair.
Now morn her rofy fteps in the eastern clime
Wak'd by the circling hours, with rofy hand
And now went forth the morn,
Such as in higheft heaven, array'd in gold
There is fomething rather too puerile (I think) in this conceit of Milton's:
Many more might be produced from each of these poets: I have only felected those where particular notice is taken of the e morning as a perfon; there are numberless admirable defcriptions of the feveral circumstances that attend the rifing of the Day, which occafion many beautiful images, proper to the season; these would be too long to infert here; I fhall only add a few more lines from Beaumont and Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdefs; they likewife have many fine expreffions of the morn, to fet in competition with their brother poets; and which indeed of our English bards have not? Taylor the Water-poet boafts, that he has expreft the rifing of the fun, the morning, (I think) a thousand different ways. The following is from the latter end of the 4th Act of the Faithful Shepherdefs.
See the day begins to break
And the light fhoots like a ftreak
Of fubtle fire, the wind blows cold,
While the morning doth unfold:
Now the birds begin to roufe,
And the fquirrel from the boughs,
Leaps to get in nuts and fruit;
The early lark that erft was mute,
Carols to the rifing day,
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 flight
Then ftay a while, thou shalt not go so foon.
Rom. Let me then stay, let me be ta'en and dye;
If thou wilt have it fo, I am content.
I'll fay yon gray is not the morning's eye,
Juliet's Soliloquy, on drinking the Potion.
I'll call them back again to comfort me.
My difmal fcene I needs must act alone:
Come vial-what if this mixture do not work at all?
Pointing to a dagger.
What if it be a poifon, which the friar
Comes to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
To whofe foul mouth no healthfome air breathes in,
And there be ftrangled ere my Romeo comes?
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
So early waking, what with loathfome fmells,
[She throws herself on the bed.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Romeo's Defcription of, and Difcourfe with, the Apothecary.
Well, Juliet, I will lye with thee to night; Let's fee for means-O mifchief! thou art fwi't To enter in the thought of defperate men!
(9) I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,
As I remember, this fhould be the houfe
(9) I do, &c.] Garth, in his difpenfary, hath endeavoured to imitate this excellent defcription of Shakespear's: the lines them Felves will be the best proof of his fuccefs:
His fhop the gazing vulgars eyes employs,
In this place drugs, in mufty heaps decay'd:
In that, dry'd bladders, and drawn teeth are laid.
Longinus recommends a judicious choice of the most fuitable cir cumftances, as elegantly productive of the fublime; I much queЯtion whether Dr. Garth's defcription will stand the test, thus confider'd, particularly in the laft circumftance,
Ap. Who calls fo loud?
Rom. Come hither, man; I fee, that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have A dram of poifon, fuch foon-speeding geer, As will difperfe itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead; And that the trunk may be difcharg'd of breath, As violently as hafty 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 fo bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'ft to die? famine is in thy cheeks; Need and oppreffion ftare within thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back: The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich, Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Ap. My poverty; but not my will, confents. Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off, and if you had the ftrength Of twenty men, it would difpatch you ftraight. Rom. There is thy gold; worfe poifon to mens fouls, Doing more murthers in this loathfom world, Than thefe poor compounds that thou may'ft not fell: I fell thee poifon, thou hast fold me none. Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh.