That you fhall reft but little

Marry, and amen!

God forgive me

How found is the asleep?

I must needs wake her: Madam, Madam, Madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed
He'll fright you up, i'faith. Will it not be?

What! drefs'd and in your cloaths -- and down again?

I must needs wake you: Lady, Lady, Lady-
Alas! alas! help help! my Lady's dead.
O well-a-day that ever I was born!
Some aqua vita, ho! my Lord, my Lady!
Enter Lady Capulet.

La Cap. What noife is here?
Nurfe. O lamentable day!
La. Cap. What's the matter?
Nurfe. Look,oh heavy day!

La. Cap. Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life! Revive, look up, or I will die with thee;

Help, help! call help.

Enter Capulet.

Cap. For fhame, bring Juliet forth; her Lord is come. Nurfe. She's dead, deceas'd, fhe's dead: alack the day!

Cap. Ha! let me fee her-Out, alas! fhe's cold;
Her blood is fettled, and her joints are stiff:
Life and thefe lips have long been feparated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely froft
Upon the fweetest flow'r of all the field.
Accurfed time! unfortunate old man.
Nurfe. O lamentable day!
La. Cap. O woful time!

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me Ties up my tongue, and will not let me fpeak. [wail, Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris, with musicians.

Fri, Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.

O fon, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy wife: fee, there fhe lies,
Flower as the was, deflower'd now by him :
Death is my fon-in-law.-

Par

Par. Have I thought long to fee this morning's face, And doth it give me fuch a fight as this!

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Moft miferable hour that time e'er faw

In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and folace in,

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my fight..
Nurfe. O woe! oh woful woful, woful day!
Moft lamentable day' 'moit woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold.

Oh day! oh day? oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was feen fo black a day as this!
Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, fpighted, flain, Molt deteftable death, by thee beguil'd,

By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown:

O love, O life, not life, but love in death!
Cap Defpis'd, diftreffed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,
Uncomfortable time! why cam'ft thou now
To murther, murther our folemnity?

O child! O child! My foul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! dead; alack! my child is dead;
And with my child, my joys are buried.

Fri. Peace, ho, for fhame! confufion's cure lives not In these confufions; heaven and yourself

;

Had part in this fair maid; now heav'n hath all ;
And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death
But heav'n keeps his part in eternal life,
The moft you fought, was her promotion;
For 'twas your heav'n, fhe fhould be advance'd:
And weep you now, feeing fhe is advance'd
Above the clouds, as high as heav'n itself?
Oh, in this love you love your child fo ill,
That you run mad, feeing that fhe is well.
She's not well married that lives married long;
But fhe's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corfe; and, as the custom is,
And in her beft array, bear her to church.
For tho' fome nature bids us all lament,

Yet

Yet nature's tears are reafon's merriment.
Cap. All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their offices to black funeral;
Our inftruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding-chear to a fad funeral feast ;
Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change,
Our bridal-flow'rs ferve for a buried corfe;
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare

To follow this fair corfe unto her grave.
The heav'ns do lowr upon you for fome ill;
Move them no more, by croffing their high will.

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. SCENE VI. Manent Muficians and Nurfe. Muf. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. Nurse. Honeft good fellows: ah, put up, put up; For well you know this is a pitiful cafe. [Exit Nurfe. Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended

Enter Peter.

Pet. Muficians, oh muficians. heart's eafe, heart's cafe: Oh, an' you will have me live, play heart's cafe. Muf Why heart's eafe?

Pet. O musicians, becaufe my heart itself plays, My heart itfelf is full of woe. O, play Ó, play me fome merry

dump to comfort me!

Muf Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
Pet You will not then?

Muf. No.

Pet. I will then give it you foundly.

Muf. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the ferving creature. Pet. Then will I lay the ferving creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?

Muf. An you re and fa us, you note us.

2 Muf. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet.

Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger:— anfwer me like men:

When griping grief the heart doth wound,

Then mufic with her filver found

Why, filver found? why, mufic with her filver found? What fay you, Simon Catling'

Muf Marry, Sir, becaufe filver hath a fweet found. Pet. Pretty! what fay you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Muf I fay, filver found, becaufe muficians found for filver.

Pet. Pretty too! what say you, Samuel Soundboard? 3 Muf. Faith, I know not what to lay.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will fay for you. It is mufic with her filver found, because fuch fellows as you have no gold for founding. The mufic with her filver found Doth lend redress.

[Exit finging.

Muf What a peftilent knave is this fame?

2 Muf. Hang him, Jack; come, we'll in here, tarry

for the mourners, and stay dinner.

[Exeunt.

A C T V. SCENE I.

Mantua.

Enter Romeo.

FI may truft the flattering ruth of fleep,

hand:

My bofom's Lord fits lightly on his throne,
And, all this day an unaccuftom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dream'd, my Lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think),
And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how fweet is love itself poffefs'd,
When but love's fhadows are fo rich in joy?

Enter Balthafar.

News from Verona

How now,

Balthafar?

Doft thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my Lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if the be well.

Balth. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took poft to tell it you.
O pardon me for bringing thefe ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'ft my lodging, get me ink and paper, And hire poft-horfes. I will hence to-night.

Balth. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus. Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some mifadventure.

Rom. Tufh, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do:
Haft thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Balth. No, my good Lord.

Rom. No matter: get thee gone,

And hire thofe horses; I'll be with thee ftrait.

[Exit Balthafar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night; Let's fee for means- -O Mifchief! thou art fwift To enter in the thought of desperate men!

• I do remember an apothecary,

• And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks;
Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones:
•And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung,
An alligator ftuff'd, and other skins

• Of ill-fhap'd fifhes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;

Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
⚫ Were thinly scatter'd to make up a fhow.
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poison now,
Whofe fale is prefent death in Mantua,
VOL. VIII.

G

Here