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ition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, opportunity which he gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connectwicked son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany r at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin.

hough this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Corperish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the and what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet this conduct is justified SPECTATOR, who blames Tate for giving Cordelia success and happiness in his alterad declares, that in his opinion, "the tragedy has lost half its beauty." Dennis has ed, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of " Cato, the town soned with much false and abominable criticism," and that endeavours had been discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the wicked prosper, and the miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just representation of the common of human life: but since all reasonable beings naturally love justice, I cannot easily jaded, that the observation of justice makes a play worse; or that if other excellen 3 equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final triumph of ted virtue.

e present case, the public has decided. Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add any thing to the general , I might relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know ther i ever endured to read again the last scenes of the play till I undertook to revise an editor.

is another controversy among the critics concerning this play. It is disputed whe : predominant image in Lear's disordered mind be the loss of his kingdom, or the of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced by induction of ar passages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, eat justness, that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather cone injured father than the degraded king.

story of this play, except the episode of Edmund, which is derived, I think, from , is taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Holingshed generally copied; haps immediately from an old historical ballad. My reason for believing that the As posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad has of Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and ollows the chronicle; it has the rudiments of the play, but none of its amplifications: sinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in circumstances. The writer of the bal ed something to the history, which is a p. oof that he would have added more, if more arred to his mind, and more must have occurred if he had seen Shakspeare.

JOHNSON.

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SCENE I. A public Place.
Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with
Swords and Bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word we'll not carry

coals..

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck

cut of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to

strike.

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague

moves me.

Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is-to stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

The fearful passage of their deaf-moti
And the continuance of the p
Which, but their children, t
remove,

Is now the two hours' traf t
The which if you with patient (2) C
What here shall miss, our 11 Micke
mend.

I.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave, weakest goes to the wall

Sam. True; and therefore w the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to ther therefore I will push Montagar's mes wall, and thrust his maids to the

Gre. The quarrel is between at and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myndb rant: when I have fought with the nas be cruel with the maids; I wi Cn đ heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids!

Sam. Ay, the heads of the muck, " maidenheads; take it in what sense Gre. They must take it in sense, the Sam. Me they shall feel, while lan stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish, hadst, thou hadst been poor John's

A phrase formerly in use to signify the bearing injuries.
Poor John is hake, dried and salted.

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ROMEO AND JULIET.

re comes two of the house of the Mon

nter ABRAM and BALTHASAR.
My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I
k thee.

How? tarn thy back and run?

Fear me not.

No, marry: I fear thee!

Let us take the law of our sides; let zin.

I will frown, as I pass by; and let e it as they list.

Nay, as they dare.

I will bite my t them; which is a disgrace to them, ear it.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
I do bite my thumb, sir.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Is the law on our side, if I say,-ay?
No.

No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at ; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Do you quarrel, sir?

Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek
a foc.

Enter Prince, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-
Will they not hear?-what ho! you men, you
beasts,-

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 mistemper'd weapons to the
ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.-
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield, old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd
[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;

If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve And, Montague, come you this afternoon,

a man as you.

No better.

Well, sir.

nter BENVOLIO, at a distance.
Say-better; here comes one of my
kinsmen.

Yes, better, sir.

You lie.

Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, re[They fight. thy swashing blow. Part, fools; put up your swords; you ot what you do.

[Beats down their Swords.

Enter TYBALT.
What! art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds?

ee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace; put up thy
word,

nage it to part these men with me.
What, drawn and talk of peace? I
hate the word,

ste hell, all Montagues, and thee:
[They fight.
it thee, coward.
several Partisans of both Houses, who
the Fray; then enter Citizens, with

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. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike!
[tagues!
beat them down!
with the Capulets! down with the Mon-
CAPULET, in his Gown; and Lady
CAPULET.

2. What noise is this!-Give me my long
[for a sword?
sword, ho!
Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you
p. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is
lourishes his blade in spite of me. [come,
er MONTAGUE and Lady MONTAGUE.
n. Thou villain Capulet.-Hold me not,
let me go.

To know our further pleasure in this case,[place,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-
Once more, on pain of death, all nien depart.
[Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; CA-
PULET, Lady CAPULET, TYBALT,
[abroach.
Citizens, and Servants.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your adver

sary

And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared;
Which, as he breathed 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 thrusts and
[part,

blows,

Came more and more, and fought on part and
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon.O, where is Romeo!-saw you hìm
to-day?

Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. [son
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from the city's side,-
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,-
That most are busied when they are most
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, [alone,--
[dew,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning-bath he there beer.

› seen,

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's
Adding to clouds more clonds with his deep
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun (sighs:

The disregard of concord is in character
an affray in the streets, as we now call watch!

+ Clubs! was the usual exclamation § Appeared. ↑ Angry.

cause?

means?

Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the
[him.
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of
Ben. Have you importuned him by any
[friends:
Mon. Both by myself and many other
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself,-I will not say how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. [grow,
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
We would as willingly give cure, as know.
Enter ROMEO, at a distance.
Ben. See, where he comes: So please you,
step aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy

stay,

To hear true shrift,-Come,madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.
Ben. Good morrow,
cousin.
Rom.
Is the day so young?
Ben. But new-struck nine.
Rom.
Ab me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went thence so fast?
Ben. It was.-What sadness lengthens Ro-
meo's hours?
[them short.
Rom. Not having that, which having, makes
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, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,

Should, without eyes, see pathways 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!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick
bealth!

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.

No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-

In seriousness.

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What is it else? a madness most discer
A choking gall, and a preserving rent
Farewell, my coz.
Ben.
Soft, I will eq
An if you leave me so, you do me w
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself, las
here;

This is not Romeo, he's some other w Ben. Tell me in sadness, she stayi love.

Rom. What, shall I groan, and th
Ben.
Gromma

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadnew noth
Ah, word ill urged to one that w
In sadness, cousin, I do love a
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I

loved.

Rom. A right good marksman—dat Ben. A right fair mark, fair em. B 1 hit.

Rom. Well, in that hit, you
With Cupid's arrow, she bath Pin
And, in strong proof of chasty
From love's weak childish sew tôt àưu 2,
harm'd.

She will not stay the siege of
Nor bide the encounter of ea
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing all
O, she is rich in beauty; only pour,
That, when she dies, with beauty distr
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she i
still live chaste ?

Rom. She bath, and in that sparing a

huge waste;

For beauty, starved with her severly,
Cuts beauty off from all posterty.
She is too fair, too wise; we take,
To merit blise by making medar
She bath forsworn to love; and, in that
Do I live dead, that live to tell it ne

Bea. Be ruled by me, forget to think
Rom. O, teach me how I should fats
think.

Ben. By giving liberty auto the eye Examine other beauties.

Rom.
Tis the way
To call her's, exquisite, in question m
These happy masks, that ass f

brows,

Being black, put us in mind they birth He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight b Show me a mistress that is passing fir What doth her beauty servet, but as a ma Where I may read, who pass'd that pa fair

ti. e., What end does it answer.

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ROMEO AND JULIET.

vell; thou canst not teach me to forget. 3. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in [Exeunt. debt.

SCENE II. A Street.

T CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.
1. And Montague is bound as well as I,
nalty alike; and 'tis Lot hard, I think,
en so old as we to keep the peace. [both;
14r. Of honourable reckoning are you
ity 'tis, you lived at odds so long.
Low, my lord, what say you to my suit?
But saying o'er what I have said
1 before:

hild is yet a stranger in the world,
Bath not seen the change of fourteen
years;

wo more summers wither in their pride,
ye a think her ripe to be a bride.
Mr. Younger than she are happy mothers
[made.
made.
T. And too soon marr'd are those so early
earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but
hes the hopeful lady of my earth:

[she, voo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, will to her consent is but a part; le agree, within her scope of choice my consent and fair according voice. A night I hold an old accustom'd feast, reto I have invited many a guest, Tas I love; and you, among the store, more, most welcome, makes my number

more.

poor house, look to behold this night
s-treading stars, that make dark heaven
light:

was comfort, as do Insty young men feel
well-apparell'd April on the heel
mping winter treads, even such delight
ng fresh female buds shall you this night
rit at my house; hear all, all see,
like her most, whose merit most shall be:
amongst view of many, mine being one,
stand in number, though in reckoning

none.

e, go with me;-Go, sirrah, trudge about
ugh fair Verona; find those persons out,
sise names are written there, [Gives a
Paper.] and to them say,
ouse and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
Find them out whose names are
ten here? It is written-that the shoe-
er should meddle with his yard, and the
with his last, the fisher with his pencil,
the painter with his nets; but I am sent

TU.

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's
langnish:

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for
[that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.

For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a
madman is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good e'en,
good fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, sir, can
you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without

book:

But I pray, can you read any thing you see?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the

language.

[Reads.

Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. Signior Martino, and his wife, and daugh ters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Virtruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine, Mine uncle Capu let, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; [Gires back the Note.) Whether should they come?

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.
Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's,

[before.

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, [Exit. come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thon so lovest;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine

eye

[fires! Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to die.And these,-who, often drown'd, could never

And those persons, whose names are here Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

and can never find what names the
ing person hath here writ. I must to the
aed-In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.
ten. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's
burning,

⚫ pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;

Coult, estimation.

Estimation.

One fairer than my love! the all-sccing sun
[by,
begun.
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world

Ben. Tut? you saw her fair, none else being
Herself poised with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'
Your lady's love against some other maid

To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare is to possess
We still say in cant language-to crock a bottle.

Weigh'd.

4 N

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