Mon. Oh, thou untaught! what manners is in this, To prefs, before thy father to a Grave?

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, 'Till we can clear thefe ambiguities,

And know their fpring, their head, their true defcent;
And then will I be General of your woes,
And lead you ev'n to Death. Mean time forbear,
And let mifchance be flaye to patience.
-Bring forth the parties of fufpicion.

Fri. I am the greateft, able to do least,
Yet moft fufpected; as the time and place
Doth make againft me, of this direful murder ;
And here I ftand both to impeach and purge
Myfelf condemned, and myself excus'd.

Prince. Then fay at once what thou doft know in this.

'Fri. I will be brief, for my fhort date of breath Is not fo long as is a tedious tale.

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet,
And fhe, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife :
I married them; and their ftolen marriage-day
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whofe untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city i
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that fiege of grief from her,
Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce
To County Paris. Then comes fhe to me,
And, with wild looks, bid me devife fome means
To rid her from this fecond marriage;"
Or, in my Cell, there would fhe kill herfelf.
Then gave I her, fo tutor'd by my art,
A fleeping potion, which fo took effect
As I intended; for it wrought on her
The form of death. Mean time I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come, as this dire night,

1 Friar.] It is much to be la mented that the Poet did not conclude the dialogue with the

action, and avoid a narrative of events which the audience already knew.

Το

To help to take her from her borrowed Grave,
Being the time the potion's force fhould cease.
But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
Was ftaid by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my letter back; then all alone,
At the prefixed hour of her awaking,
Came I to take her from her kindred's Vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my Cell,
'Till I conveniently could fend to Romeo.
But when I came, (fome minute ere the time
Of her awaking) here untimely lay
The noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.
She wakes, and I intreated her come forth,
And bear this work of heav'n with patience :
But then a noife did fcare me from the tomb,
And fhe, too defp'rate, would not go with me:
But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
All this I know, and to the marriage
Her nurfe is privy; but if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be facrific'd, fome hour before the time,
Unto the rigour of feverest law.

Prince. We still have known thee for an holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he fay to this? Balth. I brought my mafter news of Juliet's death, And then in poft he came from Mantua

To this fame place, to this fame Monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father,
And threatned me with death, going to the Vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.
Where is the County's page, that rais'd the Watch?
-Sirrah, what made your mafter in this place?
Page. He came with flowers to ftrew his lady's
Grave,

And bid me stand aloof, and fo I did :

Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb,
And, by and by, my mafter drew on him;

2

And

And then I ran away to call the Watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the Friar's words,

Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he writes, that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See, what a fcourge is laid upon your hate,
That heav'n finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your difputes too,

Have loft a brace of kinfmen. All are punish'd!
Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand,
This is my daughter's jointure; for no more
Can I demand.

Mon. But I can give thee more,

For I will raise her Statue in pure gold;
That, while Verona by that name is known,
There fhall no figure at that rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady lye;

Poor facrifices of our enmity!

Prince. A gloomy Peace this morning with it brings,

The Sun for Sorrow will not fhew his head; Go hence to have more talk of these fad things;

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished.

For never was a story of more woe,

Than this of Juliet, and her Romeo.

This play is one of the most pleafing of our Author's performances. The fcenes are bufy and various, the incidents numerous and important, the catastrophe irrefillably affecting, and the procefs of the action carried on with fuch probability, at least with

[Exeunt omnes.

fuch congruity to popular opinions, as tragedy requires.

Here is one of the few attempts of Shakespeare to exhibit the converfation of gentlemen, to reprefent the airy sprightliness of juvenile elegance. Mr. Dry den mentions a tradition, which

might eafily reach his time, of a declaration made by ShakeSpeare, that he was obliged to kill Mercutio in the third act, left be fhould have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him no fuch formidable perfon, but that he might have lived through the play, and died in bis bed, without danger to a poet. Dryden well knew, had he been in queft of truth, that, in a pointed fentence, more regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, and that it is very feldom to be rigorously understood. Mercutio's wit, gaiety and courage, will always procure him friends that with him a longer life; but his death is no: precipitated, he has lived out the time allotted him in the conftruction of the play; nor do I doubt the ability of Shake

Speare to have continued his ex-
iftence, though fome of his fal-
lies are perhaps out of the reach
of Dryden; whofe genius was not
very fertile of merriment, nor
ductile to humour, but acute, ar-
gumentative, comprehenfive, and
fublime.

The Nurfe is one of the cha-
racters in which the Authour de-
lighted: he has, with great fub-
tility of distinction, drawn her
at once loquacious and fecret,
obfequious and infolent, trufty
and dishonest.

His comick fcenes are happily wrought, but his pathetick trains are always polluted with fome unexpected depravations. His perfons, however distressed, bave a conceit left them in their misery, a miserable conceit,

HAMLET,