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Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt. Jul. Farewel God knows, when we shall meet
again! I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life. I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse what should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone: Come, vial - What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I of force be marry'd to the Count? No, no, this shall forbid it; lye thou there
[Pointing to a dagger. What if it be a poison, which the Friar Subtly hath miniftred, to have me dead, Left in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear, it is ; and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How, if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Comes to redeem me? there's a fearful point ! Shall I not then be stilled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there be strangled ere my Romeo comes ? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place, (As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried Ancestors are packt ; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies feftring in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort Alas, alas ! is it not like, that I So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks, like mandrakes torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad. Or, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, (Invironed with all these hideous fears,) And madly play with my fore-fathers joints,
La. Cap. Hol Trices, nurse.
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ?
Stay, Tybalt, stay!
[She throws her self on the bed. SCEN E changes to Capulet's Hall.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
OLD, take these keys and fetch more
Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go;
Cap. No, not a whit: what, I have watch'd ere now
[Exe. Lady Capulet and Nurfo.
Cap. Make hafte, make haste; Sirrah, fetch drier logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter.
Cap. 'Mass, and well said, a merry horson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. - good faith, 'tis day.
and chat with Paris : hie, make hafte,
on a bed.
Re-enter Nurse. Nurse. Iftress, what, mistress! Juliet - Faft,
I warrant her, Why, lamb-why, lady-Fie, you slug-a-bedWhy, love, I say - Madam, sweet-heart-why, bride What, not a word! you take your pennyworths now ; Sleep for a week ; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his Rest, That you shall rest but little - God forgive me Marry, and amen! How found is the asleep? I must needs wake her : Madam, madam, madam, Ay, let the County take you
bed He'll fright you up, i'faith. Will it ot be ? What drest, and in your cloaths
and down again!
Enter Lady Capulet.
La. Cap. What's the matter?
La. Cap. Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life!
Cap. Ha! let me see her - Out, alas ! she's cold;
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Muficians.
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
son-in-law. Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a light as this !
La. Cap. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this :
Par. Beguild, divorced, wronged, spighted, flain,
Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,
(13) Peace ho for shame, confusions: Care lives not in these Confufions,] This Speech, tho' it contains good Christian Doctrine, tho' it is perfe&ly in Character for the Friar, and not the most defpicable for its Poetry, Mr. Pope has curtail'd to little or nothing, becaufe it has not the San&tion of the first old Copy. By the same Rule, had he pursued it throughout, we might have loft some of the finest additional Strokes in the two parts of K. Henry IV. But there was another Reafon, I suspect, for curtailing: Certain Corruptions started, which should have requir'd the indulging his private Sense to make them intelligible, and this was an unreasonable Labour. As I have reform’d the Pallage above quoted, I dare warrant. I have restor'd our Poet's Text; and a fine sensible Reproof it contains against immoderate Grief : for the Friar begins with telling them, that the Cure of those Confusions, into which the melancholy Accident had thrown 'em, did not live in the confus'd and inordinate Exclamations which they express’d on that Account,