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Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty :
Thou art not conquer'd : beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody sheet?
Oh, what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
To funder his, that was thy enemy ?
Forgive me, cousin.--Ah dear Fuliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour ?
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again : here, here will I remain,
With worms that are thy chambermaids : oh here
Will I set up my everlasting reft ;
And shake the yoke of inauipicious stars
From this world-weary'd flesh. Eyes, look your

Arms, take your last embrace ! and lips, oh you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engroffing death!
Come, bitter conduct ! coine, unfav'ry guide!
Thou deip'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks my sea-fick, weary, bark:
Here's to my love, oh, true apothecary!

[Drinks the poifon. * Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kifs I die.


merit of the alterations made in it, than for any fingular reauty of its own; Romeo's surviving till Fuliit awakens, is certamig productive of great beauties, particularly in the acting. Anti, indeed, this play of our author's has met with better success, than any other which has been attempted to be altered : wboever reads Otway's Caius Marius will soon be convinc'd of this; and it is to be with’d, none would prefume to build upon Shakce Spear's foundation, but such as are equal masters with Orway.


General Observation.

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THIS play (says Johnson) is one of the most pleasing of out author's performances. The scenes are busy and various, the incidents numerous and important, the catastrophe irresistibly affecting, and the process of the action carried on with such probability, at least with such congruity to popular opinions, as tragedy requires.

Here is one of the few attempts of Shakespear to exhibit the conversation of gentlemen, to represent the airy sprightliness of juvenile elegance. Mr. Dryden mentions a tradition, which might easily reach his time, of a declaration made by Shakespear, that he was obliged to kill Mercutio in the third qui, les he bouid have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him no such formidable person, but that be might have lived through the play, and died in his bed, without danger to a poet. Dạyden well knew, had he been in quest of truth, that, in a pointed sentence, more regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, and that it is very feldoni to be rigorously understood. Mercutio's wit, gaiety, and coue rage, will always procure him friends that wish him a longer life ; but his death is not precipitated, he has lived out the time allotted him in the construction of the play ; nor do I doubt the ability of Shakrípiar to have continued his existence, thougla feme of his fallies are perhaps one of the reach of Dryn; whose çenius was not very fertile of merriment, nor ductile to humour, but acute, argumentative, compuehensive, and sublime.

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HE painting is almost the natural man :

For fince dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside : pencil'd figures are Ev'n such as they give out.

SCENE V. The Pleasure of doing Good.

Oh, you gods (think I), what need we have any friends, if we should never have need of 'em ? they would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their founds to themselves. Why, I have often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you: we are born to do benefits. And what better or properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends ? O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes ?

The Grace of a Cynic Philosopher.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf,

for no man but myself.
Grant I may nerer prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond:
Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
Ora keeper with my freedom,
Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
Amen, Amen; fo fall to't ;
Great men sin, and I eat root.


A faithful Stewards

So the gods bless me,
When all our offices have been opprest
With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept
With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room
Hath blaz’d with lights, and bray'd with minstrelfie,
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock (1)
And set mine eyes-at flow.

SCENE V. The Ingratitude of Timon's Friends."

They answer in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are forry, you are honourable But yet they could have wisht-they know notSomething had been amifs-a noblé nature May catch a wrench-would all were well—-'tis pity~


(1) Cock,] i. e. a cockloft, garret : and, a wafteful cock, signifies, a garret lying in waste, neglected, put to no use. Oxfo

. d editor.

And so intending other serious matters,
After distasteful looks, and these hard (2) fractions,
With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into silence.

Tim. You gods reward them!
I pr'ythee, man, look chearly. These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak’d, 'tis cold, it seldom flows,
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again tow’rd earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.

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Miserable Shifts of a false Friend. Ser. My honoured lord

[TO Lucius. Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, Sir; fare thee well, commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent

Lui. Ha! what hath he sent? I am so endeared to that lord; he's ever sending : how shall I thank him, think'st thou ? and what hath he sent now?

Ser. H'as only sent his present occafion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his inftant use, with fifty talents. Luc. I know his lordship is but merry


he cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
If his occafion were not virtuous,
I should not urge half so faithfully.

Luc. Doft thou speak serioufiy, Servilius ?
Ser. Upon my foul, 'tis true, Sir.
Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish myfelf

Against (2) Fractions] i, e. These breaks in speech : such as are exc prent above.

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