But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.

Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Nurse.

Ay, ay, the cords.

[Throws them down.

Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou wring thy

hands?

Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone !—

Alack the day!—he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

Jul. Can heaven be so envious?

Nurse.

Romeo can,

Though heaven cannot :-O Romeo, Romeo!

Who ever would have thought it ?-Romeo!

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I,"
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice :"
I am not I, if there be such an I;

Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I.
If he be slain, say—I; or if not, no:

Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe.

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,--
God save the mark !-here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;

Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood,
All in gore blood;-I swooned at the sight.

Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once !

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!

Vile earth, to earth resign; and motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!

m

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!

· say thou but I,] In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay, was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling.-MALONE. - cockatrice:] A basilisk, an imaginary creature, supposed to be produced from a cock's egg; a production long thought to be real. It was said to be in form like a serpent, with the head of a cock. Many fables were current respecting it, and it was supposed to have so deadly an eye as to kill by the very look. NARES.

O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?-
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.

Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ?-
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!

Nurse.

There's no trust,

No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd,

All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.-
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vita:-

These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.

Blister'd be thy tongue,

For such a wish! he was not born to shame:

Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;

For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd

Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your

cousin?

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

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 cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:
All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?

Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory,

Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished;

That-banished, that one word-banished,

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.P Tybalt's death,
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:

Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,

And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-
Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
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 slain, all dead:-Romeo is banished,-
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,

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

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse :
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall

be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

what tongue shall smooth thy name,] To smooth, in ancient language is to stroke, to caress, to fondle.-STEEVENS.

P Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.] That is, is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts.-M. MASON.

¶ — modern lamentation-] i. c. Moderate lamentation. Shakspeare uses the word modern for common, slight, and moderate; "with which," says Johnson, it was, I believe, in his time confounded."

Take up those cords :-Poor ropes, you are beguil❜d,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:

He made you for a highway to my bed;

But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.

Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. 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 Laurence' cell.

Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO.

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou 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 sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

That I yet know not?

Fri.

Is

my

Too familiar

dear son with such sour company :

I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

Rom. What less 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, say-death:

For exile hath more terror in his look,

Much more than death: do not say-banishment.
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:

Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,

And world's exile is death;-then banishment

Is death mis-term'd calling death-banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,

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

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not.-More validity,"
More honourable state, more courtships lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.

And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But-banished-to kill me; banished?

O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,

A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,

To mangle me with that word-banishment?

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word ; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,

To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Rom. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,

validity,] i. e. Worth or dignity.-JOHNSON.

more courtship-] i. e. More liberty of approaching her he loves.