Tyb. Thou wretched boy, that didft 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 flain Stand not amaz'd; the Prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away. Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool. Ben. Why doft thou stay? SCENE III. [Exit Romeo. Enter Citizens. Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. Git. Up, Sir, go with me: I charge thee in the Prince's name, obey. Enter Prince, Montague, Capulet, their wives, &c. Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Ben. O Noble Prince, I can discover all Th' unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, flain by young Romeo, That flew thy kinfman, brave Mercutio. La Cap Tybalt my coufin! O my brother's child! 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, Hold, Hold, friends! friends, part! and, fwifter than his La. Cap. He is a kinfiman to the Montague. Prin. Romeo flew him, he flew Mercutio; His fault concludes but what the law fhould end, Prin. And for that offence 1 have an intereft in your heats' proceeding, I will be deaf to pleading and excufes, Nor tears nor prayers fhall purchase out abuses; Changes to an apartment in Capulet's boufe. Jul Gallop apace, you fiery-footed fteeds, And And bring in cloudy night immediately * Spread thy cloic curtain, love-performing Night, And learn me how to lofe a winning match, 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 fpeaks Nurfe Ay, ay, the cords. Jul. Ay me, what news? Why doft 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. That is, the fun; whom he elegantly calls the unasway, in re ference to the poetical account of the fun driving his charict of light through the heavens, and running down to the weft from the eyes of mortals to the armis of his celestial miftrefs. Jul. Jul. Can heaven be fo envious? 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. Nurse. 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 bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood; I fwooned at the fight. [once! Jul. O break, my heart-poor bankrupt, break at To prifon eyes! ne'er look on liberty; Vile earth to earth refign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo prefs one heavy bier! Nurfe. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had : O courteous Tybalt, honeft gentleman, That ever I fhould live to fee thee dead! Jul. What ftorm is this that blows fo contrary! Is Romeo flaughter'd? and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd coufin, and my dearer Lord? Then let the trumpet found the general doom, For who are living, if thofe two are gone? Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul O God! did Romeo's hand thed 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 wolvifh ravening Thefe tour lines in hooks feem to be the players' trah. In fuch a gorgeous palace ! No faith, no honesty, in men; all perjur'd: All, all forfworn; all nought; and all diffemblers. Ah, where's my man! give me fome aqua vita These griefs, these woes, thefe forrows make me old ! Shame come to Romeo ! Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue, For fuch a with! he was not born to shame; O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo? Nurfe. Will you fpeak well of him that kill'd your coufin? Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him that is my husband? : Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue fhail fmooth thy name, When 1, thy three hours wife, have mangied it! But wherefore, villain, didit thou kill my coufin? That villain coufin would have kill'd my hufband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native fpring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, miftaking offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain; Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death, 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 |