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But I'll amerce' you with so strong a fine,
A Room in Capulet's House.
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phæbus' mansion ; 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 run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen! Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night.-Come, civil 2 night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,4 With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted, simple modesty.
1 Punish by fine.
2 Grave, solemn. 4 These are terms of falconry.
Come, night!--Come, Romeo! come, thou day in
night! For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd : So tedious is this day, As is the night before some festival To an impatient child, that hath new robes, And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
Enter Nurse, with Cords. And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. Now, nurse, what news ? What hast thou there, the
cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch? Nurse.
Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down. Jul. Ah me! what news! why dost thou wring thy
hands ? Nurse. Ah well-a-day! 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!
5 Gaudy, showy.
Jul. Can heaven be so envious ?
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
at once !
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had !
Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
6 In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling.
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my
dearer lord ?Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone?
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face !
There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.-Ah, where's my man ? give me some aqua
vitæ :These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me
old. Shame come to Romeo ! Jul.
Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame : Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
7 To smooth, in ancient language, is to streke, to caress.
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
cousin ? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth 7 thy
name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? That villain cousin would have kill'd
my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, o ! it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : Tybalt is dead, and Romeo_banished; That-banished, that one word—banished, Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.8 Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there : Or,-if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead, Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which moderno lamentation might have mov’d? But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
81.e. Is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts.