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Balth. I will be gone, Sir, and not trouble you. Rom. So fhalt thou fhew me Friendship.—Take thou that.

Live and be profp'rous, and farewel, good fellow.

Balth. For all this fame, I'll hide me hereabout. ⠀⠀ His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit Balth. Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morfel of the earth, Thus I inforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking up the Monument.
And in defpight I'll cram thee with more food.
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
That murder'd my love's coufin, with which grief,
It is fuppofed, the fair Creature dy'd,

And here is come to do fome villainous fhame
To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague,
Can vengeance be purfu'd further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

Rom. I muft, indeed, and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a defp'rate man;
Fly hence and leave me.
Think upon thefe gone,
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Pull not another fin upon my head,

By urging me to fury. O be gone!
By heav'n, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself.
Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter fay,
A madman's Mercy bade thee run away.
Par. I do defy thy commiferation,

And apprehend thee for a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee,


They fight, Paris falls.

Page. Oh Lord, they fight! I will go call the


Par. Oh, I am flain; if thou be merciful,

Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

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Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face
Mercutio's kinfman; Noble County Paris!
What faid my man, when my betoffed foul
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think,
He told me, Paris fhould have married Juliet.
Said he not fo? or did I dream it fo?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was fo? Oh give me thy hand,
One writ with me in four Misfortune's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant Grave.

A Grave? O, no; a Lanthorn, flaughter'd Youth;
For here lies Juliet; and her beauty makes


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This vault a feafting Presence full of Light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man inteṛr'd.
[Laying Paris in the Monument,
How oft, when Men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry? which their Keepers call
A Lightning before Death. O, how may I
Call this a Lightning !-Oh my love, my wife!
Death, that hath fuckt the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty,
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's enfign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody sheet?
Oh, what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand, that cut thy youth in twain,
To funder his, that was thy enemy?
Forgive me, coufin.Ah dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet fo fair? fhall I believe
That unfubftantial death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark, to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I ftill will stay with thee i

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And never from this Palace of dim night Depart again: Here, here will I remain,

With worms that are thy chamber-maids; oh here
Will I fet up my everlasting Rest;

And shake the yoke of inaufpicious stars

From this world-weary'd flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, oh you
The doors of breath, feal with a righteous kifs
A dateless bargain to engroffing death.
Come, bitter conduct! come unfav'ry guide!
Thou defp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dafhing rocks my fea-fick, weary, bark.
Here's to my love? Oh, true apothecary!

[Drinks the poison: Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kifs I die. [Dies.

6 And never from this Palace
of dim night
Depart again. (Comé lie thou
in my Arms:
Here's to thy Health. O true

Thy drugs are quick)] Mr. Pope's, and fome other of the worfer editions acknowledge abfurdly the lines which I have put into parenthefis here; and which I have expung'd from the text, for this reafon: Romeo is made to confefs the effect of the poifon before ever he has tafted it. I fuppofe, it hardly was fo favoury that the patient should chufe to make two draughts of it. And, eight lines after thefe, we find him taking the poifon in his hands, and making an apostrophe to it; inviting it to perform its office at once; and then, and not 'till then, does he clap it to his lips, or can with any probability

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speak of its inftant force and effects. Befides, Shakespeare would hardly have made Romeo dri k to the health of his dead Miftrefs. Though the first quarto in 1599, and the two old folios acknow ledge this abfurd ftuff, I find it left out in feveral later quarto impreffions. I ought to take notice, that tho' Mr. Pope has thought fit to stick to the old copies in this addition, yet he is no fair tranfcriber; for he has funk upon us an hemiftich of most profound abfurdity, which poffeffes all thofe copies,

-Come, lie thou in my Arms; Here's to thy Health, where e'er thou tumblest in. O true Apothecary! &c. THEOBALD. I have no edition but the folio, which has all the paffage here mentioned. I have followed Mr. Theobald.

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Enter Friar Lawrence with lanthorn, crow, and spade. Fri. St. Francis be my fpeed! How oft to-night Have my old feet ftumbled at graves?Who's there?

Enter Balthafar.

Balth. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

Fri. Blifs be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyelefs fculls? as I difcern,

It burneth in the Capulets' Monument.

Belth. It doth fo, holy Sir,-and there's my mafter, One that you love.

Fri. Who is it?
Balth. Romeo.

Fris How long hath he been there?

Balth. Full half an hour.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.

Balth. I dare not, Sir.

My mafter knows not, but I am gone hence;

And fearfully did menace me with death,

If I did stay to look on his intents.

Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me;

O, much I fear fome ill unlucky thing.

Balth. As I did fleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt, my mafter and another fought,
And that my mafter flew him.

Fri. Romeo!

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which ftains.
The ftony entrance of this fepulchre ?
What mean these masterlefs and goary fwords,
To lie difcolour'd by this place of peace?
- Romeo! oh pale! Who elfe? what Paris too?
And steep'd in blood? ah, what an unkind hour


Is guilty of this lamentable chance?
The lady ftirs.

Jul. [awaking.] Oh comfortable Friar, where is my Lord ?

་ ་ ༩

I do remember well, where I should be;
And there I am. Where is
Where is my Romeo?

Fri. I hear fome noife! Lady, come from that neft
Of death, contagion, and unnatural fleep;
A greater Power, than we can contradict,
Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away;
Thy husband in thy bofom there lies dead,
And Paris too-Come, I'll difpofe of thee
Among a fifterhood of holy Nuns.

Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay. [Exit.
Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison, I fee, hath been his timeless end.

O churl, drink all, and leave no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kifs thy lips,
Haply, fome poifon yet doth hang on them;
To make me die with a Reftorative.

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[Finding a dagger.

This is thy fheath, there ruft and let me die.

[Kills berfelf. Boy. This is the place; there, where the torch doth


Watch. The ground is bloody. Search about the church-yard;

Go, fome of you, whom e'er you find, attach.

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