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Dove-feather'd raven! wolvifh rav'ning Lamb!
Defpifed fubftance, of divineft show!
Juft oppofite to what thou justly feem'ft,
A damned Saint, an honourable villain!
O nature what hadft thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the Spirit of a fiend
In mortal Paradife of fuch fweet flefh?
Was ever book, containing fuch vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In fuch a gorgeous palace!

Nurfe. There's no truft,

No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd ;
All, all forfworn; all naught; and all diffemblers.
Ah, where's my man? Give me fome Aqua vita—
Thefe griefs, thefe woes, these forrows make me old!
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue,

For fuch a wifh! he was not born to fhame;
Upon his brow fhame is afham'd to fit :

For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the univerfal earth.

O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo?

Nurfe. Will you speak well of him, that kill'd your coufin?

Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him, that is my husband?

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Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy

name,

When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it!
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my coufin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
Back, foolish tears, back to your native fpring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you, miftaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd my hus-
band;

All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me; I would forget it, fain;
But, oh! it preffes to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!

That banished, that one word banished,

* Hath flain ten thoufand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there;
Or if fou'r woe delights in fellowship,

And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when fhe faid Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?

5 Which modern lamentation might have mov'd:
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished-to speak that word,
Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All flain, all dead !- -Romeo is banished!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe found.

Hath fiain ten thousand Tybalts.] Hath put Tybalt out of my mind as if out of being.

5 Which modern lamentation, &c] This line is left out of the Jater editions, I fuppofe because

the editors did not remember that Shakespeare uses modern for common, or fight: I believe it was in his time confounded in colloquial language with moderate.

Where

Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarse,
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine fhall
be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up thofe Cords;poor Ropes, you are be
guil'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-Bed:
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romes
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.

1

Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true

knight.

And bid him come, to take his last farewel.

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fearful man.

Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,

And thou art wedded to calamity.

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 fou'r company.

I bring the tidings of the Prince's doom?

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

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'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 say, 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,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence banished, is banish'd from the world;
And world-exil'd, is death. That banishment
Is death mis-term'd; calling death banishment,
Thou cut'ft my head off with a golden ax,
And fmil'ft upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rufht afide the law,

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

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heav'n is
here,

Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And 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 seize

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On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
Which ev'n in pure and veftal modesty
Still blush, as thinking her own kiffes fin.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
And fay't thou yet, that exile is not death?
But Romeo may not ;-he is banished.

Hadft thou no Poifon mixt, 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 profeft,
To mangle me with that word, banishment?
Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me fpeak.

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 banished.

Rom. Yet, banished? hang up philofophy:
Unless philofophy can make a Juliet,
Difplant a town, reverfe a Prince's doom,

It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more-
Fri. O, then I fee that mad men have no ears.
Rom. How fhould they, when that wife men have
no eyes?

Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate.

Rom. Thou canit not fpeak of what thou doft not feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doating like me, and like me banished;

Then might'ft thou fpeak, then might'ft thou tear thy

hair,

And fall upon the ground as I do now,

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Throwing himself on the ground.

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