Tyb. Thou wretched boy, that did'st confort him here, Shalt with him hence. Rom. This fhall determine that. [They fight, Tybalt falls Ben. Romeo, away, begone: The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain Stand not amaz'd; the Prince will doom thee death, Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool. Ben. Why doft, thou stay? [Exit Romeo.. SCENE III. Enter Citizens. Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. Cit. Up, Sir, go with me: I charge thee in the Prince's name, obey. Th' unlucky manage of this fatal brawl; La. Cap. Tybalt my coufin! Omy brother's child!— -Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, fhed blood of Montague. Prince. Benvolio, who began this fray? Ben. Tybalt here flain, whom Romeo's hand did flay; Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high difpleafure; all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Hold, friends! friends, part! and, fwifter than his His agil arm beats down their fatal points, [tongue And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whofe arm This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague. Prin. Romeo flew him, he flew Mercutio; His fault concludes but what the law should end, Prin. And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an intereft in your heats' proceeding, That you shall all repent the lofs of mine. I will be deaf to pleading and excuses, Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses; SCENE IV. Changes to an apartment in Capulet's house. Ful Galtop apace, you fiery-footed feeds, That th' runaway's eyes may wink; and Romeo. 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, And the brings news; and every tongue that speaks 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, • The runaway's, &c. that is, the fun; whom he elegantly calls. the runaway, in reference to the poetical account of the fun driving his charriot of light through the heavens, and running down to the weft from the eyes of mortals to the arms of his celestial mistress, Jul. Can heaven be so envious? Nurje. Romeo can, Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo! Who ever would have thought it, Romeo? Jul. What devil art thou that doft torment me thus? This torture fhould be roar'd in difmal hell. Hath Romeo flain himself? fay thou but I; And that bare vowel, I, fhall poifon more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. Nurfe. I faw the wound, I faw it with mine eyes, (God fave the mark), here on his manly breast. A piteous corfe, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as afhes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore blood; I fwooned at the fight. Conce! Jul, O break, my heart-poor bankrupt, break at To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty; Vile earth to earth resign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo prefs one heavy bier! Nurfe. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had : Jul. What form is this that blows so contrary! Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished; Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Nurfe. 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! [lamb! [Ravenous dove, feather'd raven! wolvish ravening Thefe four lines in books feem to be the players' trash. In fuch a gorgeous palace! Nurfe. There's no trust, No faith, no honesty, in men; all perjur'd; All, all forfworn; all naught; and all diffemblers Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue, For fuch a wish! he was not born to shame; For 'tis a throne where Honour may be crown'd O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo? Nurfe. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your coufin? Sul. Shall I fpeak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue fhall fmooth thy name, When I, thy three hours wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didft thou kill my coufin? That villain coufin 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 flain; Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death, That murther'd me; I would forget it fain.. But, oh! it preffes to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds; That banished, that one word banished, Hath flain ten thoufand Tybalts: Tybalt's death. Or if four woe delights in fellowship, And needly, will be rank'd with other griefs, |