Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will drybeat you

with an iron Wit, and put up my iron dagger :- answer me like men : When griping grief the heart doth wound, Then musick with her silver foundWhy, filver found! why mufick with her silver found ? What say you, Simon Catling?

i Muf. Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet found.

Pet. Pratest! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ?

2 Mus. I say, silver sound, becaule musicians found for silver.

Pet. Pratest too! What say you, Samuel SoundBoard ?

3 Muf. 'Faith, I know not what to say. Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will

you. It is musick with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding.

Then musick with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress. [ Exit singing
Muf. What a pestilent knave is this fame ?

2 Muf. Hang him.-Jack, come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.

say for




M A N T U A.

Enter ROME O.

[ocr errors]

F I may trust the flattering Truth of Neep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand :

5 The acts are here properly advertisement of sleep. This enough divided, nor did any was a reasonable question; and better distribution than the edi- , the epithet given to Ruth suits its tors have already made, occur to nature. But, above all, the chame in the perasal of this play; racter which the poet always gives yet it may not be improper to us of Sleep is here well described remark, that in the first folio, and in this reading ; that it is pitiful, I suppose the foregoing editions compasionate, the are in the same ftate, there is no Balm of hurt minds, great Nadivision of the acts, and there ture's

second course, fore some future editor may try, Chief nourisher of life's feaft, whether any improvement can be But because I had corrected it, made, by reducing them to a -the flattering Ruth of sleep, length more equal, or interrupt- the Oxford Editor would be even ing the action at more proper in. with me, and reads it, tervals.

- the flattery of sleep; If I may trust the flattering And he has done it. For tho' a

TRUTH of sleep,] This man reasonable man might make it a was of an odd composition to be question, whether he should beable to make it a question, whe. lieve a compasionate advertisether he should believe what he ment, yet who would hesitate confessed to be true. Tho' if he whether he should believe a flatthought Truth capable of Flat- terer.

WARBURTON. tery, he might indeed suppose This seems to be a favourite her to be turn'd apoftate. But correction, but it is not necessary. none of this nonsense came from The sense is, If I may only truff Sbakespear. He wrote,

the honesty of sleep, which I know If I may trust the flattering however not to be so nice as nos RUTH of sleep,

often to practise flattery. i. l. Pity. The compassionate



My bosom's Lord sits lightly on his throne, And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts. I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead, Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to think, And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself poffeft, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy?

Enter Balthasar.

News from Verona-How now, Balthasar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my Lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? That I ask again ;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

Balth. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body neeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my Office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, Stars ! Thou know'st my lodging,-get me ink and paper, , And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.

Balıb. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus. Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

9 My bosom’s Lord] These to shew the vanity of trusting to three lines are very gay and those uncertain and casual exal. pleasing. But why does Shake- 'tations or depressions, which Jpeare give Romeo this involuntary many consider as certain furecheerfulness just before the extre- tokens of good and evil. mity of unhappiness? Perhaps


Get thee gone,

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv’d.
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?

Balth. No, my good Lord.

Rom. No matter.
And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight.

[Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night;
Let's fee for means O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thought of desperate men!
I do remember an Apothecary,
And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meager were his looks;
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop, a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuft, and other skins
Of ill-Ihap'd fishes; and about his shelves

A beggarly account of empty boxes;
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty feeds;
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show,
Noting this penury, to myself, I said,
An if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is prefent death in Mantua,

[ocr errors]

ty boxes;

' A BEGGARLY_account of the reading of the old Quarto of

empty boxes ;] Though the 1597 : boxes were empty, yet their titles, whose needy fhop is ftufft or the accounts of their contents, With beggarly accounts of empif like those in the shops of other apothecaries, we may be sure, Not but account may signify numwere magnificent enough. I suf ber as well as contents; if the first, peet therefore that Skakefyear the common reading is right. wrote,

WARBURTON. A BRAGGARTLY account of the boxes were empts, the account

Begzarly is probably righe; if empty boxes ;

was more beggarly, as it was Which is somewhat confirmed by more pompous.

Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,
And this fame needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's shop is shut.

-What, ho! apothecary !

Enter Apothecary. kp. Who calls so loud ?

Rom. Come hither, man. I see, that thou art poor. Hold. There is forty ducats. Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding geer, As will disperse itself thro' all the veins, That the life-weary Taker may fall dead ; And that the Trunk may be discharg'd of breath, As violently, as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stare within thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to make thee rich,
Then be not poor, but break it and take this.

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off, and if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's

souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell. I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.


« VorigeDoorgaan »