There is no end, no limit, meafure, bound,

In that word's death; no words can that woe found. Where is my father, and my mother, nurfe?

Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corfe. Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul. Wath they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banifhment [spent, Take up thofe cords;-poor ropes, you are beguil'd; Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd.

He made you for a high-way to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden widowed.

Come, cord; come, nurfe; I'll to my wedding-be..,
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead !
Nurfe. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well where he is
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence' cell.

Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight,: And bid him come, to take his laft farewel. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Changes to the monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful Afiction is enamour'd of thy parts,

And thou art wedded to calamity.

[man;

Rom. Father, what news? what is the Prince's doom? What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

That I yet know not?

Fri. Too familiar

Is my dear fon with fuch four company.

I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.

Rom. What less than doom's-day is the Prince's doom?

*

Fri. A gentler judgment even'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay, death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,

Much more than death. Do not fay, banishment.
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
i. e. came equitably from his lips.
VOL. VIII.

E

But

But purgatory, Tartar, hell itself.

Hence banished, is banifh'd from the world;
And world-exil'd is death. That banished
Is death mifermed: calling death banishment,
Thou cut'ft my head off with a golden ax,
And fmil'ft upon the ftroke that murthers me.
Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death: but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rufh'd afide the law,

And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is dear mercy, and thou feeft it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
A little moufe, every unworthy thing,
Lives here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies, than Romeo; they may feize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal bleffings from her lips;
(Which even in pure and veftal modefty
Still blufh, as thinking their own kiffes fin).
This may
flies do, when I from this must fly;
(And fay'ft thou yet, that exile is not death?).
But Romeo may not ;- he is banished.

Hadft thou no poifon mix'd, no fharp-ground knife, No fudden mean of death, tho' ne'er fo mean,

But banished to kill me? banished?

O Friar, the damned ufe that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how haft thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghoftly confeffor,

A fin-abfolver, and my friend profefs'd,
To mangle me with that word, banishment!
Fri. Fond madman, hear me speak.

Rom. O thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy,

To comfort thee, tho' thou art banifhed.

Rom. Yet, banifhed? hang up philofophy.

Unless philofophy can make a Juliet,
Difplant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevail's not, talk no more-

Fri. O, then I fee that madmen have no ears. Rom. How thould they, when that wife men have no eyes?

Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy eftate.

Rom. Thou cant not speak of what thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as 1, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murthered,
Doating like me, and like me banished;

Then might't thou speak, then might thou tear thy
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[hair, [Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyfelf. [Knock within. Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-fick groans, Mist-like infold me from the fearch of eyes. [Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock !(Who's there?)— Romeo, arife.

Thou wilt be taken- -(Stay a while)

Run to my Audy

stand up;

[Knocks.

- God's will!

What wilfulness is this?--- -I come, I come. [Knock. Who knocks fo hard? whence come you? what's your

will?

Nurfe. [within.] Let me come in, and you fhall know I come from Lady Juliet.

Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurfe.

[my errand:

Nurfe. O holy Friar, oh tell me, holy Friar, Where is my Lady's Lord? where's Romeo?

Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Nurfe. O he is even in my mistress' cafe,
Juft in her cafe, O woful fympathy!
Piteous predicament! even fo lies the,

Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering,
Stand up, ftand up ;-Stand, an' you be a man:
For Juliet's fake, for her fake, rife and stand.
Why fhould you fall into fo deep an Oh!--

Rom. Nurfe!

Nurfe. Ah Sir! ah Sir!-Death is the end of all.

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Rom. Speak'ft thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not the think me an old murtherer,

Now I have ftain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood, remov'd but little from her own?
Where is the? and how does the and what says
My confeal'd lady to our cancell❜d love?

Nurfe. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up: [weeps;
And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.

Rom. As if that name,

Shot from the deadly level of a gun,

Did murther her, as that name's curfed hand
Murther'd her kinfman.-Tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my naine lodge! tell me, that I may fack
The hateful manfion.

Fri. Hold thy defperate hand.

[Drawing his fword.

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
Th' unreafonable fury of a beast.
Unfeemly woman in a feeming man!
An ill-befeeming beaft in feeming groth!
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper'd.
Haft thou flain Tybalt? wilt thou flay thyself?
And flay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?

Why rail'ft thou on thy birth, the heav'n, and earth,
Since birth, and heav'n, and earth, all three fo meet,
In thee atone; which thou at once would'st lofe!
Fie! fie! thou fham'ft thy fhape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like an ufurer, abound'st in all,

And ufeft none in that true use indeed,
Which fhould thy fhape bedeck, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digreffing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love fworn, but hollow perjury,

Killing that love which thou haft vow'd to cherish.
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mif-fhapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-lefs foldier's flask,
Is fet on fire by thine own ignorance,

And

And thou difmember'd with thine own defence.
What roufe thee; man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whofe dear fake thou wait but lately dead:
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou flew'it l'ybalt; there thou'rt happy too..
The law that threat'ned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
A pack of bleffings light upon thy back,
But, like a misbehav'd and fullen wench,
Thou pout'it upon thy fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for fuch die miferable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Afcend her chamber, hence, and comfort her.
But look thou itay not till the watch be fet;
For then thou canst not pafs to Mantua:
Where thou fhalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy.
Than thou went't forth in lamentation.
Go before, Nurfe; commend me to thy Lady,
And bid her haften all the houfe to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming,

Nurfe. O Lord, I could have flaid here all night long, To hear good counsel: oh, what learning is ! My Lord, I'll tell my Lady you will come.

Rom. Do fo, and bid my fweet prepare to chide. Nufe. Here, Sir, a ring the bid me give you, Sir::

Hie you, make hatte, for it grows very late.

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Sojourn in Mantu; I'll find out your man, And he fhall fignify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here. Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good night. Rom. But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me, It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Changes to Capulet's house.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris, Cap. Things have fallen out, Sir, founluckily,

E 3

That