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Scene VI. Violent Delights, not lasting,
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die : like fire and powder,
Which as they meet consume.

Lovers, light of Foot.

O fo light of foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint; A lover may bestride the goffamour, That idles in the wanton summer air, . And yet not fall, fo light is vanity,


A Lover's Impatience. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, To Phoebus manfion; such a waggoner As Phaeton, would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately: Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That (8) th' run-aways eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen, Lovers can see to do their am'rous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind; It belt agrees with night, .

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(8) The run-aways, &c.] That is, the fun: whom he elegantly calls the run-away, in reference to the poetical account of the sun driving his chariot of light through the heavens, and running down to the west from the eyes of mortals to the arms af his celestial mistress,

Scene V. Romeo, on his Banishment.

Scene, The Monastery.

Romeo and the Friar.

Rom. (9) Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay death! For exile hath more terror in his look Than death itself. Do not say banishment.

Fri. Here from Virona 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 banish'd, is banish'd from the world,
And world-exild is death; that banished,
Is death milerm'd: calling death banishment,
Thou cut'lt my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'ft


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 rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment;
This is dear mercy, and thou seeft 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
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
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
But Romeo may not, he is banished !
O father ; hadît thou no strong poison mixt,


(9) Ha, &c.] The Reader will find in the goth page of the second volume, a passage or two, that well deserve to be come par'd with this before us.

No sharp-ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal ?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell ;
Howlings attend it: how haft thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A fin absolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment ?

Fri. Fond madman, hear me speak.
Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishnient.

Fri. I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Rom. Yet banished ? hang up philosophy:
Unle's philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no inore-

Fri. O then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wile men have no

eyes. Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not

feel : Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tibalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished ; Then mightit thou speak, then mightft thou tear thy

hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber, looking to the


Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a windorv ; a ladiler

of ropes fet. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day :

(10) 'I

(10) It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she fings on yond' pomegranate tree;
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. (11) Look, love, what envious streaks


(10) It was, &c.] The poets abound with numberlefs similies and frequent mention of the nightingale: the, as well at the close of the evening when the fings, seems to have been a favourite. of Milto»: the passages in his works are well known ; the following fine simile, though perhaps not so apt to our present purpose, yet as little known, I cannot help recommending.

I have heard
Two emulous philomels beat the ear of night,
With their contentious throats, now one the higher,
Anon the other, then again the first,
And by and by out-breasted, that the sense,
Could not be judge between them : so, &c.

See Two Noble Kinsmen, A. S. Sc. 3. (11) Look, &c.] The poets in general seem to have exerted themselves in their description of the morning: the English may juftly clạim the preference over the Greeks and Romars, and Shakespear I think over all: the present passage is sufficient to set in competition with all we can produce: and the Reader by referring to the index will find many others equally beautiful. However, according to my promise, I must remember to quote some descriptions, the better to set forth Skakespear's superior excellence: Homer has led the way, and in almoit innumerable places, spoken of the morning “ as a goddess or divine person Äying in the air, unbarring the gates of light, and opening the day. She is drawn by him in a faffron robe, and with rosy hands (p:dodaxtin@, which is the epithet he almost constantly bestows upon her, and perhaps may vie with any other however beautiful) sprinkling light through the earth. She arises out of the waves of the sea, leaves the bed of Tython her lover, ascends the heavens, appears to gods and men, and gives notice of the sun's rising. She is placed by the father of the poets sometimes on a throne of gold; now in a chariot drawn by swift horses, and bearing along with her the day; and at other times she is whered in by the star, which is her harbinger, and which gives the signal of the morning's approach. On this as a ground, the poets fol

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder eaft:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day


lowing Homer, have run their divisions of fancy: this will appear by the following instances, &c." See Lay Monastery, p. 229. See Dryden's Virgil for the ensuing ;

Aurora now had left her faffron-bed,
And beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread.
And now the rosy morn began to rise,
And wav'd her saffron streamer through the skies.
Now rose the ruddy morn from Tython's bed,
And with the dawn of day the skies o'erspread :
Nor long the sun his daily course withheld,
But added colours to the world reveal'd.
The morn ensuing from the mountains' height,
Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light :
Tetherial coursers bounding from the sea,

From out their daming naftrils breath'd the day.
Ovid by Trap.

Lo, from the rosy east, her purple doors
The morn unfolds adorn'd with blushing flowers,
The lessen'd stars draw off and disappear,
Whose bright battalions, lastly Lucifer,

Brings up, and quits his station in the rear.
Tallo by Fairfax.

The purple morning left her crimfon bed,
And donn'd her robes of pure vermilion hue :
Her amber locks the crown'd with,

In Eden's fow'ry gardens gather'd new.
Spenser, in his Facrie Queens.

Now when the rosy-finger'd morning fair,
Weary of aged Tithon's saffron bed,
Had spread her purple robes thro' dewy air,
And the high hills Titan discovered,
The royal virgin, &c.
At last the golden oriental gate
Of greatest heaven 'gan to open fair,
And Phoebus fresh as bridegroom to his mate



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