Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but, what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. Prin. And, for that offence, Immediately we do exíle him hence: I have an interest in your hates' proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses, Bear hence this body, and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in Capulet's House. Enter JULIET. Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! to intend the character of Benvolio as good, meant perhaps to show, how the best minds, in a state of faction and discord, are detorted to criminal partiality. JOHNSON. 2 That run-away's eyes may wink'; and Romeo Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day in night! Whiter than new snow on † a raven's back. 4 1 Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! That run-away's eyes may wink; &c.] Juliet first wishes for the absence of the sun, and then invokes the night to spread its curtain close around the world: Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! Next, recollecting that the night would seem short to her, she speaks of it as of a run-away, whose flight she would wish to retard, and whose eyes she would blind, lest they should make discoveries. 2 Come, civil night,] Civil is grave, decently solemn. 3 Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,] These are terms of falconry. An unmanned hawk is one that is not brought to endure company. Bating, (not baiting, as it has hitherto been printed,) is fluttering with the wings as striving to fly away. 't." upon❞ 4 - MALONE. the garish sun.] Garish is gaudy, showy. As is the night before some festival To an impatient child, that hath new robes, And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, Enter Nurse, with Cords. And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch? Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. Jul. Ah me! what news! why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone ! Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! Romeo can, Though heaven cannot :-O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? - Romeo! Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I, 5 Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I. 5 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, say thou but I,] In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling. God save the mark 6 ! — here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood; - I swoonded at the sight. Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once ! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; y? Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. 6 God save the mark !] This proverbial exclamation occurs again, with equal obscurity, in Othello, Act I. sc. i. Nurse. There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,7 When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O! it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : That banished, that one word banished, 8 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death, 7 What tongue shall smooth thy name,] To smooth, in ancient language, is to stroke, to caress, to fondle. 8 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.] That is, is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts. |