Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I serve as good a

man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say, better: here comes one of my master's

kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy

swashing blow.

[They fight.

Ben. Part, fools, put up your swords, you know notwhat you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word

As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee :
Have at thee, coward...

Enter three or four citizens with clubs.

[Fight.

Cit. Clubs, bills, and partifans! strike! beat them

down!

Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet."
Cap. What noise is this? give me my long sword, ho!!
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch:-why call yo you for a

fword??

Cap. My sword, I say: old Montague is come,

And flourishes his blade in spight of me.

Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet Hold me not, let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir 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 beafts
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 mif-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 C pulet, and Mont que,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Veronu's ancient 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 cafe,
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 ancient quarrel new abroach; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began ?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close 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. While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part,. Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

La..

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 sycamour,
That westward rooteth from the city side,
So early walking did I see your fon.
Tow'rds him I made, but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
J, 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 fighs:
But all fo foon 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 fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night...

(2)an hour before the worshipp'd Sun Peer'd through 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 fubsequent instance. 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 inge. nious 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 fleep, 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 purfue Romeo.

A6

Black

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 myself 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 fo 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 fun.
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 afide

I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay

To hear true shrift: Come, Madam, let's away. [Exeunt..

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.

Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new struck 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 be can spread his sweet leaves to the air,

Or dedicate his beauty to the same.] To the fame? Sure, all the lovers of Shakespeare and poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, dragging parapleromatic, as the grammarians style it. But our Author generally in his fimilies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have overcharg'd this so infipidly. When we come to confider, 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 wrotes

Or dedicate bis beauty to the fun.

Or, according to the more obsolete spelling, funne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. I propos'd this conjectural ementation in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, and Mr. Pose has embraced it in his last edition.

Ben. It was: what fadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

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,

[short.

Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes fee 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! serious vanity!
Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking fleep, 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 oppreffion.
Rom. Why, such is love's tranfgreffion.-
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 fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet:
Farewel, my coufin.

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

[Going

And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself, I am not here;

This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love?

Rom.