No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,

8

Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt remain full two-and-forty hours,
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.

Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead
Then, as the manner of our country is,

In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,"
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift;
And hither shall he come, and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame,
If no unconstant toy nor womanish fear

Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell me not of fear! Fri. Hold; get you gone; be strong and prosperous

"A dull and heavy slumber, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His natural progress, but surcease to beat.'

H.

So the undated quarto: the other old copies have many instead of paly; except the second folio, which has mealy.

H.

The Italian custom here alluded to, of carrying the dead body to the grave richly dressed, and with the face uncovered, Shake speare found particularly described in Brooke's poem:

"An other use there is, that whosoever dyes,

Borne to their church, with open face upon the beere he lyes,
In wonted weed attyrde, not wrapt in winding sheete."

In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.

Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall help afford.

Farewell, dear father!

[Exeunt

SCENE II. A Room in CAPULET'S House.

Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, the Nurse, and Servants.

Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. [Exit Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.'

2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.

' Cooking was an art of great esteem in Shakespeare's time, as indeed it is likely to be, so long as men keep up the habit of eating. Ben Jonson's description of "a master cook," too long to be quoted here, is a specimen of the humourous sublime not apt to be forgotten by any one that has feasted upon it. The Poet has been suspected of an oversight or something worse, in making Capulet give order here for so many "cunning cooks;" whereupon the pictorial edition defends him thus: "Old Capulet, in his exuberant spirits at his daughter's approaching marriage, calls for 'twenty' of these artists. The critics think this too large a number. Ritson says, with wonderful simplicity, Either Capulet had altered his mind strangely, or our author forgot what he had just made him tell us.' This is indeed to understand the Poet with admirable exactness. The passage is entirely in keeping with Shakespeare's habit of hitting off a character almost by a word. Capulet is evidently a man of ostentation; but his ostentation, as is most generally the case, is covered with a thin veil of affected indifference. In the first Act he says to his guests,We have a trifling foolish banquet toward.' In the third Act, when he settles the day of Paris' marriage, he just hints, We'll keep no great ado; a friend, or two.' But Shakespeare knew that these indications of the pride which apes humility' were not inconsistent with the twenty cooks,'- the regret that we shall be much unfurnish'd for this time,' and the solicitude expressed in, Look to the bak'd meats. good Angelica.'"

H.

Cap. How canst thou try them so?

2

2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that canuot lick his own fingers: therefore, he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.

Cap. Go, begone.

[Exit Servant.

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.-

What! is my daughter gone to friar Laurence?
Nurse. Ay, forsooth.

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her:

A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Enter JULIET.

Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with merry look.

Cap. How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?

Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition

To

you and your behests; and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon. - Pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

:

Cup. Send for the county go tell him of this. I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might,' Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

This adage is in Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie, 1589:

"As the olde cocke crowes so doeth the chicke:

A bad cooke that cannot his owne fingers lick."

3 Becomed for becoming. The old writers furnish many such instances of the active and passive forms used interchangeably.

H.

Cap. Why, I am glad on't; this is well,-stand

up:

This is as't should be. Let me see the county:
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.-
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,
All our whole city is much bound to him.

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit, to furnish me to-morrow?

Lady C. No, not till Thursday: there is tine enough.

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church [Exeunt JULIET and Nurse.

to-morrow.

Lady C. We shall be short in our provision ·

"Tis now near night.

Cap.

Tush! I will stir about,

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife. Go thou to Juliet; help to deck up her:

I'll not to bed to-night; —let me alone;

I'll play the housewife for this once.

What, ho!

They are all forth: well, I will walk myself
To county Paris, to prepare up him

Against to-morrow. My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

1 pray thee, leave me to myself to-night;

For I have need of many orisons

To move the heavens to smile upon my state,

Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin.

Enter Lady Capulet.

Lady C. What! are you busy, ho? need you my help!

Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:

So please you, let me now be left alone,

And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

Lady C.

Good night:

Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady CAPULET and Nurse. Jul. Farewell! - 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, phial. -

What if this mixture do not work at all?

Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?-
No, no; this shall forbid it: - lie thou there.

[Laying down a Dagger.'

What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd, to have me dead,
Lest 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,

1 .. Daggers," says Gifford, "or, as they are commonly called, knives, were worn at all times by every woman in England; whether they were so in Italy, Shakespeare, I believe, never in quired, and I cannot tell."

H.