La. Cap. Tybalt, my coufin! O my brother's childUnhappy fight! alas, the blood is fpill'd Of my dear kinfman -Prince, as thou art true, Ben. Tybalt here flain, whom Romeo's hand did flay: With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Hold, friends! friends, part! and, fwifter than his tongue, His agil arm beats down their fatal points, And twixt them rufhes; underneath whofe arm An envious thruft from Tybalt hit the life La. Cap. He is a kinfman to the Montague. Prin. Romeo flew him, he flew Mercutio; La. Mont: Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The The life of Tybalt. Prin. And for that offence, Immediately we do exile him hence : I have an interest in your hearts' proceeding, (9) [Exeunt. SCENE changes to an Apartment in Capulet's House. Jul. G Enter Juliet alone. ALLOP apace, you fiery-footed steeds, As Phaeton, would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, (10) That (9) Elfe, when he is found, that hour is his laft.] It is wonderful that Mr. Pope fhould retort the Want of Ear upon any body, and pass fuch an inharmonious, unscanning, Verfe in his own Ear: a Verse, that cannot run off from the Tongue with any Cadence of Mufick, the short and long Syllables ftand fo perversely. We must read, Elfe, when he's found, that Hour is his last. Every diligent and knowing Reader of our Poet must have obferv'd, that Hour and Fire are almoft perpetually diffyllables in the pronounciation and Scanfion of his Verfes. (10) Spread thy clofe Curtain, love-performing Night, That runaways Eyes may wink;] What Runaways are these, whofe Eyes Juliet is wishing to have ftopt? Macbeth, we may remember, makes an Invocation to Night, much in the fame Strain: C 4 ----Come, That th' Run-away's eyes may wink; and Romee Hood my unmann'd blood baiting in my cheeks, Come, night, come, Romeo! come, thou day in night! Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night! To an impatient child that hath new robes, may not wear them. O, here comes my nurfe! And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks -Come, feeling Night, Scarf up the tender Eye of pitiful day, &c. So Juliet here would have Night's Darkness obfcure the great Eye of the Day, the Sun; whom confidering in a poetical Light as Phoebus, drawn in his Carr with fiery-footed Steeds, and posting thro' the Heav'ns, She very properly calls him, with regard to the Swiftness of his Course, the Runaway. In the like Manner our Poet fpeaks of the Night, in the Merchant of Venice. For the clofe Night doth play the Runaway, Mr. Warburton. Now, nurse, what news? what haft thou there? Nurfe. Ay, ay, the cords. Jul. Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurfe. Ah welladay, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead. ful. Can heaven be fo envious? Nurfe. Romeo can, Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo! Who ever would have thought it, Romeo? ful. What devil art thou, that doft torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. (11) Nurfe. I faw the wound, I faw it with mine eyes, (God fave the mark,) here on his manly breast. A piteous coarse, a bloody piteous coarse; Pale, pale as afhes, all bedawb'd in blood,. Jul. O. break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break To prifon, eyes! ne'er look on liberty; Vile earth to earth refign, end motion here, (11) And that bare vowel, ay, shall poifon more Than the death-darting Eye of Cockatrice.] I question much whe ther the Grammarians will take this new Vowel on Trust from Mr. Pope, without fufpecting it rather for a Diphthong. In short, we must restore the Spelling of the Old Books, or We lose the Poet's Conceit. At his Time of day, the affirmative Adverb Ay was generally written, I: and by this means it both becomes a Vowel, and anfwers in Sound to Eye, upon which the Conceit turns in the Second Line, Fulg Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows fo contrary! Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished, ful. O,God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did, alas, the day! it did. Jul. O ferpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep fo fair a cave ? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove feather'd raven! Wolvifh-rav'ning Lamb! (12) Juft oppofite to what thou justly feem'ft, Nurfe. There's no truft, No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd; (12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven, Wolvish ravening Lamb.] This paffage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the Text, partly, I prefume, because these two noble Hemiftichs are, indeed, inharmonious: [But chiefly, because they are obscure and unintelligible at the first view.] But is there no fuch Thing as a Crutch for a labouring, halting, Verfe? I'll venture to reftore to the Poet a Line that was certainly his, that is in his own Mode of Thinking, and truly worthy of him. The firft word, ravenous, I have no Doubt, was blunderingly coin'd out of Raven and ravening, which follow; and, if we only throw it out, we gain at once an harmonious Verfe, and a proper Contraft of Epithets and Images. Dove-feather'd Raven l Wolvish-rav'ning Lamb! Shame |