Skip to main content

Full text of "A new variorum edition of Shakespeare. Edited by Horace Howard Furness [and others]"

See other formats 


^fe& 


A  NEW  VARIORUM  EDITION 

3^. 


0» 


Shakespeare 


EDITED  BY 

HORACE   HOWARD   FURNESS 


CVdi  /J 

Romeo  and  Juliet 


ISIXTEENTH  EDITION] 


PHILADELPHIA  7~  —      —    ^ 

J.   B.    LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY  -^  ,     l  .    <^^ 

LONDON:  16  JOHN  STREET.  ADELPHI 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO  , 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  Horace  Howard  Furnbss. 
Copyright,  1913,  by  Walter  Rogbr  Furnbss,  William  Hbnrt  Puknsss 

AND  HOKACB  HoWARD  FuRNESS,  Jr 


PR 
v.l 


0.0 


r 


a> 


Wkstcott  &  Thomson, 
Eltctrotypers,  Phila. 


PRBSS  OP  J.  B.  LiPPINCOTT  COMPAJCT 

Phila. 


TO 


THE   SHAKSPERE    SOCIETY   OF   PHILADELPHIA" 


THIS   VOLUME 


IS 


AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


PREFACE 


It  is  now  nearly  fifty  years  since  the  last  so-called  Variorum  Edition 
of  Shakespeare,  edited  by  Boswell,  (the  son  of  Johnson's  biographer,) 
was  published  in  twenty-one  octavo  volumes ;  and  whatever  may  be 
the  defects  of  the  notes  therein  collected,  and  however  much  they 
may  seem  to  justify  the  contempt  heaped  upon  *  Shakespearian  com- 
mentators,' or  be  sneered  at  as  'necessary  evils,'  that  edition  remains 
to  this  day  the  storehouse  whence  succeeding  editors  of  Shakespeare 
have  drawn  copious  supplies  of  illustration  and  criticism.  It  is 
indispensable  to  a  thorough  study  of  Shakespeare — as  necessary  to 
Shakespeare  as  Orelli  to  Horace,  or  Dissen  to  Pindar.  Not  that 
an  acquaintance  with  this  mass  of  commentary  is  essential  to  the 
enjoyment  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  or  that  there  may  not  be  even  a 
very  full  appreciation  of  their  marvellous  beauties  as  they  appear  in 
the  unaided  text.  A  man  may  be  a  good  Christian  without  any 
knowledge  of  the  commentaries  on  the  Bible,  and  yet  no  one  ques- 
tions their  value. 

Nevertheless,  valuable  as  the  Variorum  of  182 1  is,  it  is  very  far  from 
supplying  the  needs  of  Shakespeare  students  at  the  present  day.  It  is 
in  fact  merely  rudimentary.  In  the  fifty  years  that  have  elapsed  since 
its  publication,  Shakespearian  criticism  has  made  great  progress, 
greater  in  fact  than  during  any  other  preceding  half-century;  and, 
although  in  the  list  of  recent  editors  are  found  no  such  world- 
renowned  names  as  Pope  and  Johnson,  yet  Shakespeare  has  never  had 
critics  who  brought  to  their  task  greater  learning,  keener  critical 
sagacity  and  more  reverential  love  than  have  been  shown  by  his  more 
modern  editors.  The  student  of  Shakespeare  is  no  longer  offended  by 
the  patronizing  tone  in  which  it  was  the  wont  to  refer  to  *  our  author ' 
01    'our  poet,'   obscure   passages   are  no  longer  termed   'nonsense' 

A*  V 


VI  PREFACE. 

which  'must  be  reformed,'  and  the  cry  of  'bad  grammar'  is  hushea 
The  art  of  writing  notes  by  exclaiming  at  the  '  asinine  tastelessness 
of  preceding  critics,  so  wittily  described  by  Dr.  Johnson,  is  happily 
becoming  one  of  the  lost  arts,  and  scathing  invective  over  matters 
which  might  seem  to  '  exercise  the  wit  without  engaging  the  passions,' 
has  disappeared  before  a  single  desire  to  make  clear  what  is  obscure. 

The  valuable  notes,  however,  of  such  editors  as  Knight,  Singer,  Col- 
lier, Ulrici,  Delius,  Dyce,  Hudson,  Staunton,  White,  Clarke,  Keight- 
ley,  and  Halliwell,  are  to  be  found  only  in  as  many  different  volumes  j 
and  to  gather  the  comments  of  these  critics  on  doubtful  passages 
involves  no  small  amount  of  labour  and  much  delay.  To  abridge  the 
labour  and  to  save  the  time  by  collecting  these  comments  after  the 
manner  of  a  Variorum  and  presenting  them,  on  the  same  page,  in  a 
condensed  form,  in  connection  with  the  difficulties  which  they  explain, 
is  the  purpose  and  plan  of  the  present  edition. 

A  review  of  the  critical  labours  of  preceding  editors, 

•  Many  for  many  virtues  excellent, 

*  None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  difierent,' 

belongs  more  properly  to  the  general  Preface  of  all  the  Plays  rathei 
than  to  the  Preface  of  a  single  Play,  even  if  such  a  review  be  not, 
under  any  circumstances,  impertinent  in  an  edition  like  the  present, 
where  every  editor  speaks  for  himself. 

The  appearance,  in  1863,  of  the  so-called  Cambridge  Edition  creatc-d 
an  era  in  Shakespearian  literature,  and  put  all  students  of  Shakespeare's 
text  in  debt  to  the  learned  and  laborious  editors :  Messrs.  Glover, 
Clark,  and  Wright. 

In  the  Cambridge  Edition,  at  the  foot  of  every  page,  is  given  a 
thorough  and  minute  collation  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios  and  a 
majority  of  the  varies  lectiones  of  many  modern  editors,  together  with 
many  conjectural  emendations,  proposed,  but  not  adopted  into  any 
text — the  result  on  the  part  of  the  editors  of  very  extensive  reading. 
It  is  hardly  possible  to  over-estimate  the  critical  and  textual  value 
of  such  an  edition. 

The  respect,  however,  wherein  the  plan  of  the  Cambridge  Edition  ii 


PREFACE.  vU 

Open  to  improvement — and  I  say  it  with  deferenc  e — is  tnat,  while  it 
gives  the  readings  of  the  old  editions,  it  omits  to  note  the  adoption 
or  rejection  of  them  by  the  various  editors,  whereby  an  important 
element  in  estimating  these  readings  is  wanting;  however  uncouth 
a  reading  may  seen  at  first  sight,  it  ceases  to  be  the  *  sophistication' 
of  a  printer  when  we  learn  that  men  so  judicious  as  Capell  or  Dyce 
had  pronounced  in  its  favour ;  and  in  disputed  passages  it  is  of  great 
interest  to  see  at  a  glance  on  which  side  lies  the  weight  of  authority. 
Moreover,  by  this  same  defect  in  the  plan  of  the  Cambridge  Edition, 
credit  is  not  always  given  to  that  editor  who,  from  among  the  ancient 
readings,  first  adopted  the  text  since  generally  received  ;  and,  indeed, 
the  Cambridge  Editors  themselves  suffer  from  this  omission,  when  it 
happens,  as  it  sometimes  does,  that  their  own  excellent  selection  is 
passed  over  uncredited. 

It  was  this  omission  in  the  textual  notes  of  the  Cambridge  Editors 
that  first  led  to  the  present  undertaking,  which  is  designed  to  supply 
that  want,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  a  New  Variorum,  which, 
taking  the  Third  Variorum,  that  of  1821,  as  a  point  of  departure, 
should  contain  the  notes  of  the  editors  since  that  date  only;  in 
other  words,  to  form  a  supplement  to  the  Third  Variorum.  But  it  was 
very  soon  foimd  that  the  extent  to  which  the  notes  of  the  Variorum 
enter  into  the  composition  of  the  notes  of  subsequent  editors  ren- 
dered such  a  plan  impossible.  It  was  therefore  decided  to  prepare  a 
New  Variorum,  superseding  that  of  1821  in  so  far  as  it  should  contain 
all  the  notes  in  the  latter,  except  such  as  the  united  judgments  of  all 
the  editors  since  that  date  have  decided  to  be  valueless,  together  with 
all  the  original  notes  of  these  editors  themselves. 

Of  this  edition  the  First  Volume  is  here  presented  to  the  public ;  and 
nothing  more  remains  to  be  xdded  but  an  explanation  of  the  plan  and 
principles  upon  which  it  has  been  formed. 

First.  In  the  matter  of  Text,  I  had  originally  decided,  in  order  to 
save  printing  and  space,  to  adopt  the  text  of  some  one  edition  from 
which  all  the  variations  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios  and  other  editions 
should  be  noted,  and  for  this  purpose  the  Cambridge  Edition  was 
selected ;  but,  in  consequence  of  unforeseen  obstacles,  I  altered  my 


VllI  PREFACE. 

plan,  and  have,  as  a  general  rule,  adopted  the  reading  of  a  majority 
of  the  ablest  editors,  but  not  always :  in  some  cases  I  have  followed 
only  one  editor ;  and  this  I  have  felt  at  liberty  to  do,  since,  in  such 
an  edition  as  the  present,  it  makes  very  little  difference  what  text  is 
printed  in  extenso,  since  every  other  text  is  also  printed  with  it  on  the 
same  page. 

Secondly.  In  the  textual  notes  will  be  found  a  collation  of  the  Four 
Folios,  four  out  of  the  five  Quartos,  and  the  texts  of  the  thirty-five 
editions  enumerated  on  p.  xvii.  Only  those  readings  are  noted  which 
vary  from  the  text ;  all  that  are  not  mentioned  agree  with  it.  Students 
accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  textual  notes  in  the  Cambridge  Edition 
will  not,  I  think,  find  any  difficulty  in  understanding  mine.  Of  course 
abbreviations  were  indispensable,  but  I  have  endeavoured  to  make  them 
as  intelligible  as  possible. 

^The  rest'  signifies  all  the  Quartos  and  Folios  other  than  those  speci- 
fied :  for  this  abbreviation  I  am  indebted  to  the  Cambridge  Edition. 

The  editors  from  Rowe  to  Capell  agree  far  oftener  than  they  dis- 
agree; I  have  therefore  employed  the  sign  *6^<r.'  to  denote  Rowe, 
Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer,  Warburton,  and  Johnson.  When  one  or 
two  of  them  are  noted  as  following  one  reading,  the  sign  'c^c.,'  is 
still  made  to  do  duty  for  the  others  that  follow  another  reading. 

As  many  of  the  editors  have  adopted  the  text  of  the  Variorum,  I 
have  used  the  abbreviation  'Far.'  to  denote  the  Variorum  of  1821, 
Rann,  Harness,  Singer  (ed.  i),  Campbell,  Cornwall  and  Hazlitt ;  it 
also  includes  Steevens's  edition  of  1793.  Collier's  text,  unless  other- 
wise noted,  invariably  includes  Verplanck's. 

When  after  either  of  the  two  latter  abbreviations,  &*<:.  and  Far., 
the  name  of  any  editor  is  included  in  a  parenthesis,  it  is  to  be  under- 
stood that  the  editor  thus  distinguished  follows,  unless  otherwise  noted, 
the  same  reading  as  in  the  text.  It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  is 
the  rule  only  after  these  abbreviations ;  when  parentheses  are  elsewhere 
employed  they  designate  the  editor  who  first  suggested  the  given 
emendation  ;  e.  g.,  in  Act  I,  scene  v,  line  92,  '^ne]  Theob.  (Warb.)' 
means  that  although  Theobald's  is  the  first  edition  in  whif  h  this 
reading  is  found,  instead  of  the  '  sinne'  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios, 
yet  it  was  Warburt^n's  suggestion.     This  form  of  abbreviation  I  have 


PREFACE.  xn 

also  adopted  from  the  Cambridge  Edition,  as  also  the  letters  F  and  Q 
with  inferior  numerals  to  betoken  the  various  Folios  and  Quartos. 

When,  after  certain  readings  have  been  noted  as  followed  by  certain 
editors,  all  the  rest  of  the  editors  adopt  the  reading  of  the  Variorum, 
I  have  used  the  abbreviation  *  Var.  et  cetJ'  Exceptions  are  placed  in 
parentheses;  e.  g.,  I,  v,  19,  ^You  are  welcome]  Var.  etcet.  (Knt.  Dyce, 
Sta.  Clarke,  Cambr.)'  means  that  the  editors  in  parenthesis  do  not 
adopt  the  reading  of  the  Variorum  and  the  rest,  but  read  as  in  the 
text. 

Where  the  Quartos  and  Folios  have  a  uniform  reading  different 
from  the  generally  accepted  modem  text,  the  editor  who  introduced 
the  change  is  specified  without  giving  the  list  of  his  predecessors  who 
followed  the  ancient  reading.  E.  g.,  I,  iv,  47,  'our five]  Mai.  (Wilbra- 
*ham  conj.)  our  fine  Qq.  Ff.  Ulr.'  signifies  that  Malone,  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Wilbraham,  first  read  *  five'  for  fine,  and  that  Rowe,  Pope, 
Theobald,  Hanmer,  Warburton,  Johnson,  Capell,  and  Steevens  followed 
the  old  copies ;  and  lastly  that  Ulrici  alone,  of  editors  since  Malone, 
reverted  to  the  Quartos  and  Folios. 

I  have  very  seldom  noted  the  varies  lectiones  of  the  First  Quarto ;  it 
differs  so  widely  that  to  do  so  in  every  instance  in  foot-notes  is 
impossible.  I  have  therefore  followed  the  example  of  the  Cambridge 
Edition,  and  reprinted  it  entire  at  the  end  of  the  play.  When  referred 
to  in  the  textual  notes  it  is  designated  as  (Q,). 

For  the  sake  of  economy  in  space  I  have  not  always  recorded  the 
metrical  arrangement  of  Rowe,  who  almost  invariably  follows  the 
Fourth  Folio. 

The  Manuscript  Corrector  of  Mr  Collier's  Second  Folio  I  have 
uniformly  designated  by  the  sign  '  Coll.  (^MS.)' ,  and  where  his  emen- 
dations have  been  adopted  by  subsequent  editors  I  have  sometimes 
violated  the  chronological  order  by  placing  him  the  first  in  the  list, — 
before  Ulrici,  his  warmest  advocate. 

In  some  other  instances  also  I  have  placed  an  editor  immediately 
after  an  emendation  suggested  by  him,  but  adopted  by  others  in  edi- 
tions which  chronologically  precede  his.  E.  g.,  V,  iii,  169,  Dyce  sug- 
gested '  rest,'  for  rust  in  his  *  Remarks',  &c.,  published  in  1844,  which 
was  adopted  by  three  editors  before  Dyce's  own  edition  appeared  in 


X  PREFACE. 

1857.  I  have  nevertheless  placed  Dyce  before  the  i)thers.  In  all  these 
cases  the  commentary  will  explain  any  such  apparent  irregularity. 

When,  in  recording  the  varies  lectiones  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios,  the 
point  at  issue  is  a  matter  of  punctuation,  I  have  not  noted  trivial  dif- 
ferences of  spelling,  but  have  followed  the  spelling  of  the  majority. 
E.  g.,  where  attention  is  called  to  the  period  after  enough,  although  the 
First  and  Second  Folio  have  *  inough*  and  the  Third  Folio  has 
*  enough,'  I  have  thought  it  sufficient  to  record  *  inough.  F^FJ^y' 

On  the  other  hand,  when  it  is  a  matter  not  of  punctuation,  but  of 
words,  I  have  not  swelled  the  space  of  the  notes  by  giving  every 
variety  of  punctuation.  E.g.,  Ill,  v,  176-178,  Theobald,  Hanmer 
and  Warburton  are  recorded  as  following  Pope  in  adopting  the  lines 
from  the  First  Quarto,  although  they  differ  from  him  immaterially  in 
punctuation. 

Mere  verbal  differences  in  Stage-directions  I  have  not  recorded ; 
where  Rowe  has  *  Ex.  Mer.  Ben.'  and  the  text  reads  'Exeunt  Mercu- 
*tio  and  Benvolio,*  the  whole  phrase  is  credited  to  Rowe.  It  shows 
little  respect  for  the  reader  to  leave  nothing  to  his  intelligence. 

As  the  textual  notes  in  this  edition  at  once  invite  comparison  with 
those  in  the  Cambridge  Edition,  it  may  not  be  needless  to  state  briefly 
the  points  of  identity  and  difference. 

The  collation  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios  is  wholly  my  own,  so  far  as 
examining  every  word  in  every  one  of  them  can  make  it  so.  I  have 
conducted  the  examination  with  all  the  carefulness  at  my  command. 
I  have  not  wittingly  recorded  a  single  reading  in  them  at  second  hand, 
except  in  the  case  of  the  Fifth  Quarto,  of  which  I  have  only  an  im- 
perfect copy,  lacking  about  seventy  lines  at  the  end  of  the  first  Act, 
and  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  at  the  end  of  the  fifth ;  within  these 
spaces  I  :im  indebted  to  Prof.  Mommsen  and  the  Cambridge  Editors 
for  citations  of  that  Quarto.  For  the  collation  of  the  other  Quartos 
I  have  used  Mr  Ashbee's  Facsimiles,  between  which  and  the  readings 
recorded  in  the  foot-notes  of  the  Cambridge  Edition  I  have  found 
about  twenty  discrepancies,  all  trifling,  and  tending  to  show  that  the 
original  copies  used  by  Mr  Ashbee  and  the  Cambridge  Editors  varied. 
For  instance,  in  I,  v,  115  the  Cambridge  Edition  gives  Catulet  2&  the 
reading  of  Q3,  Mr  Ashbee's  Facsimile  has     Capulet';  in  III,  iii,  160 


PREFACE.  xi 

the  Cambridge  Edition  records  learaing  in  Q^,  the  Facsimile  has 
'Learning';  in  V,  i,  7  the  former  notes  from  Q^dreames  that  gives,  the 
latter  'dreame  that  gives';  brase  of  the  Cambridge  Edition  is  'brace' 
in  the  Facsimile,  &c.  &c.  (It  may  not  be  amiss  to  add  that  the  read- 
ings of  the  Facsimile  that  vary  from  the  Cambridge  Edition  have  been 
kindly  verified  for  me  by  an  eminent  Shakespearian  collector  in  Lon- 
don, and  found  to  agree  with  the  original  copies  in  the  British  Museum 
and  in  his  own  Library.)  About  the  same  number  of  discrepancies 
appeared  between  the  original  Folios  that  I  have  used  and  those  used 
by  the  Cambridge  Editors.  For  instance,  the  latter  note  '  mlgKst  F/; 
^ st'.nt  thou  F3';  ^ saint-seucing  F,'  for  'migh'st,'  'stent  thee,'  and 
*  saint-seuncing'  in  my  copies  respectively.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that 
the  Folios  used  by  the  Cambridge  Editors  would  in  every  the  smallest 
particular  sustain  the  correctness  of  their  notes,  so  greatly  do  the  old 
copies,  Quarto  and  Folio,  of  the  same  date,  differ,  but  I  mention  these 
fiacts  solely  for  the  sake  of  justifying  the  discretion  which  I  have  used 
in  recording  the  varice  lectiones  of  these  ancient  copies.  I  have  not 
noted  manifest  misprints  in  passages  about  which  there  never  has  been 
and  never  can  be  any  difficulty,  or  such  differences  of  spelling  as  Wens- 
day  or  We.ndsday  for  Wednesday,  Petrucheo  for  Petruchio,  or  Catulet 
for  Capulet ;  nor  have  I  noted  differences  of  punctuation  where  the 
sense  could  be  in  no  wise  affected.  Were  there  any  evidence  that 
Shakespeare  had  ever  corrected  the  proof-sheets  of  this  play,  or  that  it 
was  even  printed  from  his  manuscript,  every  comma  should  be  held 
sacred,  but  when  we  know  that  we  have  to  get  at  Shakespeare  ofttimes 
through  the  interpretation  of  an  ignorant  compositor,  and  that  copies 
of  the  very  same  date  differ,  such  minute  collation  verges  on  trifling 
and  caricature.  The  punctuation  adopted  by  such  critics  as  Dyce,  or 
Staunton,  or  the  Cambridge  Editors  appears  to  me  of  much  higher 
authority  than  that  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios.  Of  course  the  case  is 
very  different  in  doubtful  or  disputed  passages,  where  the  student 
should  have  before  him  every  aid  that  the  old  copies  can  afford,  and 
no  mispelling  nor  misprint  is  too  gross,  nor  punctuation  too  minute, 
to  be  recorded. 

Apart  from  the  distinctive  feature  of  the  foot- notes  of  this  edition, 
which  is,  that  the  different  texts  are  given  of  over  thirty  modem  edi- 


Xll  PREFACE. 

tions,  And  apart  from  the  discretion  which  I  have  exercised  in  recording 
the  collation  of  the  Quartos  and  Folios,  the  most  noticeable  differetce 
between  the  textual  notes  in  the  present  edition  and  those  in  the  Cam- 
bridge Edition  is,  that  I  have  not  noted  all  the  phrases  and  passages 
omitted  by  Pope,  whose  edition  was  not  a  success  in  his  own  day,  and 
never  has  been  since.  His  omissions  were  monstrous  and  arbitrary, 
and  where  they  have  not  been  endorsed  by  any  subsequent  editor, 
except  perhaps  Hanmer,  I  have  not  noted  them.  When  other  editors 
have  followed  his  example,  the  omission  is  duly  recorded. 

Wherever  I  have  adopted  in  the  textual  notes  a  varia  lectio  from 
the  Cambridge  Edition,  I  have  acknowledged  it  by  placing  after  it 
an  asterisk. 

In  the  Commentary  will  be  found, ^rj/,  the  notes  adopted  by  modern 
editors  from  the  Variorum  of  1821,  and  at  the  end  of  every  note  the 
names  in  Italics  of  all  the  editors  by  whom  it  has  been  adopted. 

Then  follow  the  original  notes  of  the  English  and  German  editors. 

From  all  notes  I  have  omitted  references  simply  to  the  varies  Uc- 
tiones  of  the  old  copies,  except  where  they  were  necessary  to  explain 
the  substance  of  the  note. 

I  have  also  omitted  the  personalities  of  editors.  One  or  two  of 
them  have  been  thoughtlessly  retained  in  the  earlier  pages  of  this 
volume,  before  I  had  made  it  a  stringent  rule  to  exclude  them,  and 
when  I  had  not  fully  in  mind  that  portion  of  Dr  Johnson's  brilliant 
preface  which  the  reader  will  pardon  me  for  quoting,  since  Shake 
speare  commentators  have  so  often  offended  in  this  respect :  *  It  is 
not  easy  to  discover  from  what  cause  the  acrimony  of  a  scholiast  can 

*  naturally  proceed.  The  subjects  to  be  discussed  by  him  are  of  very 
'  small  importance ;  they  involve  neither  property  nor  liberty ;  nor 
'  favour  the  interest  of  sect  nor  party.  But  whether  it  be,  that  unall 
'  things  make  mean  men  proud,  and  vanity  catches  small  occasions ;  or 
'  that  all  contrariety  of  opinion,  even  in  those  that  can  defend  it  no 

*  longer,  makes  proud  men  angry ;  there  is  often  found  in  comment- 

*  aries  a  spontaneous  strain  of  invective  and  contempt,  more  eager  and 
'venomous  than  is  vented  by  the  most  furious  controvertist  in  poli- 

ticF  against  those  whom  he  is  hired  to  defame.    Perhaps  the  lightness 


PREFACE.  xiil 

'  of  the  matter  may  conduce  to  the  vehemence  of  the  agsncy ;  when  the 

•  truth  to  be  investigated  is  so  near  to  inexistence  as  to  escape  atten- 
'  tion,  its  bulk  is  to  be  enlarged  by  rage  and  exclamation ;  that  to 
'  which  all  would  be  indifferent  in  its  original  state  may  attract  notice 

*  when  the  fate  of  a  name  is  appended  to  it.  A  commentator  has  indeed 
'  great  temptation  to  supply  by  turbulence  what  he  wants  of  dignity, 
'  to  beat  his  little  gold  to  a  spacious  surface,  to  work  that  to  foam 

which  no  art  or  diligence  can  exalt  to  spirit.' 
From  the  German  editions  those  notes  only  are  taken  which  are 
not  exclusively  designed  for  a  German  public.  Here  and  there  expla- 
nations which  I  have  introduced  from  this  quarter  have  been  drawn,  I 
apprehend,  from  the  *  depths  of  German  consciousness. '  To  save  space, 
I  have  not  included  the  names  of  German  editors  among  those  who 
have  adopted  the  Variorum  notes,  nor  have  I  repeated  those  notes 
from  the  Variorum  which  only  the  foreign  editors  have  selected.  As 
may  be  very  naturally  supposed,  (although  the  opposite  belief  has 
pretty  generally  prevailed  in  Germany,)  the  foreign  editors  are  indebted 
at  every  step  to  the  English  editors.  Lessing  revealed  Shakespeare 
to  Germans,  but  not  to  Englishmen.  Rowe,  Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer, 
Warburton,  and  Johnson  had  supplied  with  their  editions  the  English 
demand  for  the  works  of  him  whose  supremacy  all  acknowledged, 
before  Lessing's  powerful  voice  was  raised  in  the  interest  of  Shake- 
speare ;  and  at  the  very  hour  that  he  was  writing  his  Hamburgische 
Dramaturgies  Capell  was  producing,  with  a  laborious  care  rarely 
surpassed,  an  edition  which  to  this  day  stands  almost  unrivalled 
for  purity  of  text.  In  philosophical  or  aesthetic  criticism  on  Shake- 
speare the  Germans  have  shown  themselves  eminent,  and  it  has  been 
a  very  grateful  task  to  lay  before  the  English  reader  some  of  the  results 
of  their  keen  and  refined  labours;  at  no  time  has  the  lack  of 
space  been  more  irksome  than  when  it  has  compelled  me  to  abridge 
or  omit  much  of  German  criticism  that  I  have  been  anxious  to  retain. 
Occasionally  the  demand  made  by  German  commentators  upon  our 
admiration  a  little  outruns  our  ability  to  meet  it,  as  when,  for  exam- 
ple, Prof.  Lemcke  of  Marburg  says : 

*  Let  us  for  once  lay  aside  our  proverbial  modesty,  and  openly  de- 
'  clare  that  it  is  not  the  aflfinity  of  race,  nor  the  indications  in  his  poetry 
£ 


XIV  PREFACE. 

'  of  a  German  spirit,  which  have  brought  us  so  close  to  Shakespeare, 
'  but  it  is  that  God-given  power  vouchsafed  to  us  Germans  before  all 

*  other  nations,  by  the  grace  of  which  we  are  enabled  to  recognize  true 
'  genius,  of  whatsoever  nation,  better  than  other  nations,  ofttimes  better 

*  than  its  own,  and  better  to  enjoy  and  to  appropriate  its  gifts.    We  un- 

•  derstand  and  love  Shakespeare  by  virtue  of  that  same  German  insight 
'  which  has  helped  the  Italians  to  understand  their  Dante,  which  has 
'  helped  the  Spaniards  to  arrange  their  Romances,  and  which  is  now 
'  and  always  helping  the  French  to  explore  the  treasures  of  their  me- 
'  diaeval  literature.  We  comprehend  and  love  Shakespeare  by  virtue 
'  of  that  Faust  element  in  us  which  instinctively  recognizes  a  genius 
•where  other  nations,  with  their  Wagner  eyes,  can  perceive  only  a 
'black  poodle — in  a  word,  we  comprehend  and  love  Shakespeare 
'because  we  are  undeniably  a  "  Nation  of  Thinkers,"  as  other  nations 
'  have  before  now  so  often  been  obliged  with  ill-concealed  vexation  to 
'  acknowledge.' 

Our  defence,  if  any  be  needed,  may  safely  be  left  in  the  hands  of 
60  accomplished  a  scholar  as  Prof.  Mommsen,  whose  edition  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet  will  stand  as  long  as  Shakespeare  is  studied,  a 
monument  of  critical  sagacity,  patient  toil  and  microscopic  investi- 
gation of  the  text.  *  It  is  assuredly  a  valuable  work,'  says  this  eminent 
scholar,  *  to  epitomize  intelligently  the  great  English  commentaries 
'  on  Shakespeare ;  here  and  there  by  a  collation  of  the  old  copies  we 
'  may  happily  settle  some  doubtful  reading,  but  it  is  a  perilous  game 
'  not  to  confess,  under  all  circumstances,  frankly  and  modestly,  that 
'we  are  wholly  dependent  on  the  English;  verily  we  should  suffer 
'  wrack  if  with  the  one  hand  we  accept  from  them  all  the  means  by 
'  which  we  live  and  breathe,  and  with  the  other,  by  way  of  thanks. 

•  fling  scorn  and  contempt  upon  their  names.' 

I  have  also  introduced  here  and  there  into  the  Commentar)-,  from 
nearly  fifty  different  sources,  criticisms  and  notes  which  seemed  too 
fragmentary  to  be  inserted  in  the  Appendix,  and  which  might  lose 
much  of  their  point  separated  from  the  passages  to  which  they  apply. 
Many  of  these  more  properly  come  under  the  head  of  Illustrations  j 
but  I  was  unwilling  to  separate  them  from  the  text  for  the  reason  just 


PREFACE.  XV 

given,  and  also  because  I  did  not  wish  to  introduce  another  division 
in  a  volume  that  seems  already  sufficiently  varied. 

In  the  Appendix  are  given,  first,  certain  notes  that  were  too  long  to 
be  inserted  in  the  Commentary,  and  next  the  various  Prefaces  of  the 
different  modern  editors,  digested  and  divided  under  separate  subjects. 
Then  follow  extracts  from  English,  French,  and  German  critics.  Con- 
tinually haunted  as  I  have  been  by  the  fear  of  making  the  volume  too 
bulky,  I  have  been  obliged  to  make  a  selection,  and  in  so  doinf  Z 
decided  to  give  more  space  to  the  French  and  German  than  to  the 
English.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  references  to  this  tragedy 
alone,  and  not  to  Shakespeare  in  general,  would  be  appropriate 
in  this  volume.  It  has  given  me  especial  pleasure  to  lay  before  the 
English  reader  the  extracts  from  the  French :  it  is  but  little  known, 
in  this  country  at  least,  outside  the  ranks  of  Shakespeare  students, 
how  great  is  the  influence  which  Shakespeare  at  this  hour  is  exerting 
on  French  literature,  and  how  many  and  how  ardent  are  his  admirer*' 
in  that  nation. 

On  p.  xviii  I  have  enumerated,  in  the  list  of  books  quoted,  some  six 
or  seven  volumes,  which,  judging  from  their  titles  only,  might  seem 
to  contain  matter  that  should  be  incorporated  in  a  volume  like  the 
present,  but  in  which  nothing  has  been  found  either  pertinent  or  avail- 
able. They  have  been  included,  however,  in  the  list,  lest  their 
absence  should  imply  neglect  or  oversight  on  the  part  of  the  editor. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  list  contains  all  or  nearly  all  of  the 
Books,  Pamphlets,  or  Reviews  that  have  been  consulted. 

In  the  textual  notes  will  be  foimd  the  valuable  conjectures  of  Profes- 
sor George  Allen  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania ;  in  the  Appendix 
is  his  explanation  of  the  theory  on  which  they  are,  most  of  them, 
based;  no  one  who  has  studied  Sidney  Walker's  volumes  can  fail  to  be 
interested  in  the  development  of  a  law  of  pronunciation  and  rhythm 
which  that  acute  critic  so  narrowly  missed,  and  which  here,  for  the 
first  time,  has  found  an  expositor  whose  name  has  been  for  so  many 
years  a  synonym,  in  our  city,  for  accurate  and  finished  scholarship. 


XVI  PREFACE. 

Steevens's  remark,  in  the  last  century,  that  every  new  edition  of 
Shakespeare  must  be  an  experiment,  is  emphatically  true  of  the  present 
volume,  and  to  suppose  that  no  errors  lurk  in  it  would  betoken  in  the 
editor  a  strange  degree  of  folly.  It  will  be  preternatural  if  there  be 
not  many  in  it.  In  excuse  for  the  imperfections  of  my  work,  I  should 
doubtless  have  quoted  the  Latin  proverb,  had  I  not  lately  noted  that 
Cotgrave,  a  contemporary  of  Shakespeare,  considered  *  Hvmanum  est 
*  errare'  as  even  in  his  day  quite  too  threadbare  to  serve  as  an  excuse  for 
those  errors  *  such  as  the  malicious  and  ignorant  shall  captiously  pinch 
or  fondly  point  at.'  I  shall  therefore  only  say  that  where  errors  may 
be  found,  they  are  not  due  to  any  stinted  painstaking  on  my  part. 

There  now  only  remains  to  me  the  pleasant  duty  of  acknowledging 
the  kind  offices  that  have  lightened  my  labours.  My  chiefest  thanks 
are  tendered  to  Professor  Allen,  whose  mature  judgment,  and  ripe  and 
accurate  scholarship,  have  frequently  afforded  me,  while  the  work  was 
going  through  the  press,  that  aid  and  comfort,  which  only  those  can 
appreciate  who  have  entered  upon  the  thorny,  perilous,  and  bewilder- 
ing path  of  an  editor.  To  Mr  A.  I.  Fish,  whose  name  has  been  so 
long  associated  in  this  city  with  the  study  of  Shakespeare,  and  who  has 
for  many  years  been  the  Dean  and  the  moving  spirit  of  '  The  Shak- 
spere  Society  of  Philadelphia,'  I  owe  my  warm  acknowledgments  for 
his  friendly  interest  and  unfailing  sympathy,  as  well  as  for  the  unre 
stricted  use  of  his  library  where  my  own  was  deficient.  To  Mr  Edwin 
Forrest  my  sincere  thanks  are  due  for  the  prompt  and  liberal  manner 
in  which  he  placed  at  my  service  his  valuable  copies  of  the  Second 
and  Third  Folios.  To  Mr  Robert  F.  Smith  I  am  also  indebted  for  the 
loan  of  Halliwell's  Folio  Edition.  I  cannot  lay  claim  to  all  the  trans- 
lations in  the  Appendix.  Some  of  those  from  the  German  were  made 
by  my  father,  and  some  from  the  French  by  my  sister,  Mrs  A.  i^. 
Wister,  and  by  one  still  nearer.  The  public,  who  have  so  often  and 
so  emphatically  welcomed  other  translations  from  the  hands  of  the 
first  two,  will  thus  have  a  proof  that  certain  portions,  at  least,  of  th-i 
work  are  beyond  criticism. 

H.  H.   F. 


LIST   OF  EDITIONS   COLLATED   IN  THE 
TEXTUAL  NOTES. 


The  First  Quarto  (Ashbee's  Facsimile) 

..      1597 

The  Second  Quarto                do 

• •     1599 

The  Third  Quarto                  do 

1609 

The  Fourth  Quarto                do          .  .          ( 

undated.) 

The  First  Folio  (Staunton's  Photolithograph 

.)           ..      1623 

The  Second  Folio 

1632 

The  Fifth  Quarto 

• .      1637 

The  Third  Folio 

. .      1664 

The  Fourth  Folio 

. .     1685 

ROWE 

.        1709 

Pope  (First  Edition) 

.  .      1725 

Pope  (Second  Edition) 

. .      1728 

Theobald  (First  Edition)    . . 

• •      1733 

Theobald  (Second  Edition) 

. .      1740 

Hanmer 

1744 

Warburton 

•  •      1747 

Johnson 

. .      1765 

Capell 

1768 

Rann 

1786-1794 

Steevens 

• •      1793 

The  Third  Variorum 

1821 

Harness 

1825 

Singer  (First  Edition) 

.     1826 

Campbell  (London,  1866)    . . 

.  .     1838 

Knight  (First  Edition) 

. .      1838 

Cornwall  .  . 

.      1839 

Collier  (First  Edition) 

1842 

Verplanck  . 

.  .      1847 

Hazlitt 

..      1851 

Ulrici 

..      1853 

Delius 

.        1855 

Hudson 

.  .      1856 

Singer  (Second  Edition) 

1856 

Dyce  (First  Edition) 

.        1857 

Staunton     .  . 

..      1857 

Collier  (Second  Edition)    .  . 

..      1858 

R.  G.  White             

..      1861 

Chambers     . . 

.  .      1862 

Charles  and  Mary  Cowden  Clarke 

.  .      1864 

Halliwell  (Folio  Edition)  .  . 

1864 

Knight  (Second  Edition)     .  . 

. .      1864 

Dyce  (Second  Edition) 

. .     1865 

The  Cambridge  Edition 

.  .     1865 

Keightley    .  . 

.  .      1865 

B» 


xrii 


LIST   OF   BOOKS   QUOTED   AND    CONSULTED    IN 
THE   PREPARATION   OF   THIS   VOLUME 


Otway:    Cains  Mar ius  (London,  171 2) 

Upton  :   Critical  Observations  on  Shakespeare 

Grey  :  Critical^  Historical  and  Explanatory  Notes 

Capell  :  Notes  and  various  Readings 

Heath:  A  Revisal  of  Shakespeare'' s  Text 

FARtCER  :  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare  . 

Johnson'  and  Steevens  :    The  Plays  of  Shakspeare 

Johnson  and  Steevens  :    The  Plays  of  Shakspeare 

Mason  :  Comments  on  the  last  edition  of  Shakespcar's  Plays 

Steevens:    The  Plays  of  Shakspeare 

Whiter  :  Specimen  of  a  Commentary  on  Shakespeare 

Reed  :    The  Plays  of  Shakspeare  (First  Variorum) 

Seymour  :  Remarks,  critical,  conjectural,  and  explanatory,  upon  the 

Plays  of  Shakespeare    ,  . 
Chedworth  :  Azotes  on  some  Obscure  Passages  in  Shakespeare 
Douce  :  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare  (London,  1839) 
Drake  :  Shakspeare  and  his  Times 
Reed  :    The  Plays  of  Shakspeare  (Second  Variorum) 
Becket  :  Shakspeare' s  Himself  Again 
Jeffrey:  Essays  (London,  1846)     .  . 

Hazlitt:    Characters  of  Shakspeare' s  Plays  (New  York,  1846)    . 
Jackson  :  Shakspeare's  Genius  Justified     .  . 
Caldecott  :  Hamlet  and  As  You  Like  It .  . 
N ARES  :  Glossary  (London,  i  S67)     .  . 
Skottowe  :  Life  of  Shakespeare    .  . 
Graves  :   Essay  on  the  Genius  of  Shakespeare,  with  Critical  Re- 

jnarks  ott  the  Characters  of  Romeo,  Hamlet,  fuliet  and  Ophelia 
Mrs.  Jamcson  :    Characteristics  of  Women.  . 
Keightley  :   Fairy  Mythology 
Coleridge  :  Literary  Remains 
Brown:  Autobiographical  Poems    ..  ..  ..  .. 

Dyce  :    Remarks   on   Mr.  Collier's   and  Mr.  Knight's  edition    of 

Shakespeare 
Mitford  :  Gentleman's  Magazine   .  . 
Hunter  :  AVw  Illustrations 
The  Shakespeare  Society's  Papers,  Vol.  ii     .  , 
The  Shakespeare  Society's  Papers,  Vol.  iii    .  • 
Birch  :  Inquiry  into  the  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Shakespeare 


703 
746 

754 
759 
765 
767 

111 
778 
785 
785 
794 
803 

805 
S05 
807 
807 

813 
S15 

817 
S18 
S18 
S20 
S22 
824 

S26 
833 
833 
S36 

S38 

844 
845 
845 
S45 
847 
S48 


LIST   OF  BOOKS. 


XIX 


SiMROCK  :  Plots  of  Shakespeare's  Plays 

Hartley  Coleridge  :  Essays 

Collier  :  Notes  and  Emendations  from  the  Early  Manuscript  cor- 

rectiotts  in  a  Copy  of  the  Folio,  1632     .  . 
Bell:   Shakespeare's  Puck  and  his  Folk-Lore         ..  ..         1852 

SiN'GER  :   The  Text  of  Shakespeare  Vindicated 
Dyce  :  A  Few  Notes 
Hunter:  A  Few  Words  in  Reply  to  the  Animadversions  of  the 

Reverend  Mr  Dyce 
Collier:  Notes  and  Emendations  (Second  Edition) 
William  Sidney  Walker:  Shakespeare^ s  Versification   .  . 
Richard  Grant  White  :  Shakespeare's  Scholar  .  . 
Hallam  :  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  (Fifth  Edition) 
Maginn  :  Shakespeare  Papers 
Mitford  :    Cursory  Notes  on  various  passages  in  the  text  of  Beau- 

mont  and  Fletcher,  as  edited  by  the  Rev.  A.  Dyce,  a?id  on  his 

'  Few  Azotes  on  Shakespeare '     .  . 
Collier  :  Seven  Lectures  on  Shakespeare  arid  Milton  by  the  late  S. 

T.  Coleridge.      With  a  list  of  all  the  MS.  Ejnendations  in  Mr 

Collier's  Folio  Shakespeare  of  1632 
Badham  :   The  Text  of  Shakespeare  (Cambridge  Essays)    .  , 
LuNT  :    Three  Eras  of  Nfeiu  England 
Bathurst  :  Remarks  oti  the  Differences  in  Shakespeare's  Versification 

in  different  periods  of  his  Life 
Dyce  :  Strictures  on  Mr  Collier's  new  edition 
Craik  :    The  Eni^lish  of  Shakespeare  (Second  Edition) 
Lord  Campbell  :    The  Legal  Acquirements  of  Shakespeare  consid- 
ered 
WiLLiAJi  Sidney  Walker  :  A  Critical  Examination  of  the  Text 

of  Shakespeare  .  . 
Nichols  :  Notes  on  Shakespeare     .  .  .  .  .  i86i- 

Beisly  :  Shakespeare's  Garden 
The  Globe  Edition 
Thom  :   Three  Notelets 
Heraud  :  Shakespeare' s  Inner  Life 
Cohn  :  Shakespeare  in  Germany  in  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth 

Ce?ituries 
Cartwright  :  N'ew  Readings 

Massey  :   Shakespeare's  Sonnets  never  before  interpreted    .  . 
"  Philadelphia  Shakspere  Society  :"  Notes  on  '  The  Tempest.' 
Keightley  :  Shakespeare  Expositor 
M'Ilwaine:  Leisure  Hours .  . 

Abbott  :  Shakespearian  Grammar  (First  Edition.) 
RUSHTON  :  Shakespeare' s  Testamentary  Language 
CosENS  :  Translation  of  Lope  de  Vega's  Castelvines  y  Montesei 
Abbott  :  Shakespearian  Grammar  (Second  Edition) 
Green  :  Shakspeare  and  the  Emblem  Writers 
Garrick  :  Acting  Copy. 
Booth  :  Acting  Copy. 
Notes  and  Queries. 


1850 
1851 

1852 

•i860 

1853 

1853 

1853 

1S53 
1854 
1854 
1S55 
1856 


1856 


1856 
1856 
1857 

1857 
1859 
1859 

1859 

i860 
-1862 
1S64 
1S64 
1865 
1865 

1S65 
1866 
1 866 
1866 
1867 
;869 
1869 
1869 
1869 
1870 
1870 


XX 


LIST   OF  BOOKS. 


Letourneur  ;   CEuvres  de  Shakspeare        .  .           .  .           .  .  1776-1782 

Chateaubriand:  Shakspere  ou  Shakspeare           ..          ..  ..     1801 

A.  Brown  :  Romeo  and  Juliet          .  .           .  .           .  .           .  .  Paris,  1837 

Saint-Marc  Girardin  :   Cotirs  de  Literature  Dramatique  .  .      1845 

ViLLEMAiN  :  Etudes  de  Littdrature  Ancienne  et  Etrangere  .        1849 

Chasles  :  Etudes  sur  Shakespeare               ..           ..           ..  .  .      1851 

Guizot:   Shakespeare  and  his  Times            ..           ..           ..  ..      1852 

Saint-Marc  Girardin  :  Cours  de  Littirature  Dramatique  .  .     1855 

Albert  Lacroix  :   Histoire  de  V Influence  de  Shakespeare  sur  le 

Theatre  Franqais           .  .           .  .           .  .           .  .           .  .  .  .      1856 

Francois  Victor  Hugo  :   CEuvres  computes  de  Shakspeare  1859-62 

Mezieres  :  Shakespeare,  ses  CEuvres  et  ses  Critiques         .  .  .  .      i860 

Lamartine  :  Shakspeare  et  son  CEuvre       ..           .             ..  ..      1865 

Taine:  Littirature  Andaise            ..           ..             .           .  ..      1866 


Lessing  :  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic 

Goethe  :  Romeo  and  Juliet  for  the  Weimar  Theatre 

Horn  :  Shakespeare' s  Schauspiele    .  . 

TiECK :  Dramaturgische  Blatter 

Feller  :  Romeo  and  Juliet 

Ulrici  :  Dramatic  Art 

SCHLEGEL :  Lectures  on  Dratnatic  Art  (Bohn's  Edition) 

Pierre  :  Romeo  and  Juliet 

Winter  :  Romeo  and  Juliet 

Rotscher  :   Philosophic  der  Kunst 

Hoffa  :  Romeo  and  Juliet 

Gervinus  :  Skakespeare  Commentaries 

Vehse  :  Shakespeare  als  Politiker,  Psycholog  Ufid  Dichter 

Delius  :   Shakspere  Lexikon 

Heussi  :  Rofneo  and  Juliet 

Vischer:  Aesthetik,  oder  Wissenschaft  des  Schbnen 

Krevszig  :    Vcrlesungen  iiber  Shahespeare  .  . 

MoMMSEN  :  Romeo  ufid  Julia 

Strater  :  Die  Komposition  von  Shakespeare'' s  Romeo  und  Julitt 

Rotscher  :  Die  Kunst  der  dramatischen  Darstellung 

Rotscher  :  Dratnaturgische  Probleme 

Die  Jahrbiicher  der  Deittschen  Shakespeare-Gesellschaft 

Rv>fELiN:  Shakespearestudien 

BoDENSTEDT :  Shakspeare' s  Dramatische  Werke    . 

Ulrici  :    Shakspeare' s  Dramatische  Werke 

Genee  :  Geschrchte  der  Shakespeare' schen  Dramen  in  Deutschland 


1767 
1811 
1823 
1826 
1833 

1S39 
1840 
1840 
1840 
1S42 

1845 
1850 
1851 
1852 

1853 
1857 
1859 
1859 
1861 
1864 
1865 
1865-69 
.  1866 
1 863 
1868 
1870 


[In  order  to  complete  the  Bibliography  of  this  Tragedy,  -he  following 
LIST  FROM  Lowndes,  Thimm,  and  Cohn  is  given  of  editions  and  translations. 
It  will  be  seen  that  the  former  are  without  any  special  critical  value, 
and  that  the  latter  simply  illustrate  the  popularity  of  this  play.] 


Romeo  and  yuliet     . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . .    London,  1 734 

Romeo  and  Juliet      .  .  . .  .  .  . .  .  .  .  .    London,  1735 

Romeo  and  Juliet.    Revised  and  altered  by  T.  Cibber.  London,  n.  d.  (1748) 
Capulet  and  Montague,  or  the  Tragical  Loves  of  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

London,  n.  d. 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  altered  into  a  Tragi-Comedy  by  James  Howard, 
Esq.       .  .  . .  .  .  ,  .  .  .  .  .       London,  n.  d. 

Romeo  and  Jttliet      .  .  . .  . .  . .  . .  .  .     Dublin,  1793 

Romeo  and  Juliet     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .    London,  1806 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  printed  by  Garland      .  . .  . .        n.  d. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  performed  at  the  Theatres  Royal.     With  Re- 
marks by  Mrs  Inchbald  .  .  .  .  .  ,     London,  n.  d.  (1808) 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  now  performed  at  the  Theatres  Royal.         Paris,  1827 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  performed  at  Paris      .  .  .  .  . .  . .      1827 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  a  Tragic  Opera  in  Three  Acts,  by  NicOLO  Zin- 

GARELLI  .  .  .  .  .  .  .    London,  1837 

Romeo  and  Juliet  (Modern  Standard  Drama)  .  .  New  York,  1847 

Romeo  and  Juliet     .  ...  .  .       Halle,  1853 

Ro?neo  and  Juliet,  Travesty  .  ..  •.    London,  18 12 

Romeo  and  Jjiliet,  Travesty  .  ..  ..    London,  1S37 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  Travesty  (Lacy's  Acting  Edition).     London,  n.  d.  (1855) 


GERMAN   TRANSLATIONS. 

Romeo  und  Juliet,  von  F.  Weisse  .  .  .  .  .  . .     Leipsic,  1776 

Rotneo  und  Juliet,  Oper  in  drey  Acten         .  .  .  .  .  .     Leipsic,  1778 

Romeo  und  Juliet,  mit  Gesang  von  F.  W.  Gotter  .  .    Leipsic,  1779 

Romeo  und  Juliet,  von  C.  F.  Bretzner      .  .  .  .  .     Leipsic,  1796 

Rotneo  undjtdiet,  von  Caroline  Schlegel  (und  A.  W.  Schlegel). 

Berlin,  1796 
Romeo  und  Juliet,  Quodlibet  von  Karakterett  .  .  .  .       Wien,  1S08 

Romeo  und  Juliet,  dramatisc/tes  Gedicht,  von  J.  V.  Soden.    Naumburg,  1809 
Romeo  und  Jttliet,  von  J.  H.  Voss  (tnit  Erldtiterungen)     .  .    Leipzig,  18 18 
Romeo  und  Juliet,  von  H.  Dcering  .  .  .  .  .  .      Gotha,  1812 

Romeo  und  Julie,  von  E.  Ortlepp  . .  . .  . .  .  .    Leipzig,  1836 

Potneo  und  Julie,  von  C.  A.  West  .  .  .  . .  •  .       Wien.  1841 


XXI 


XXll  LIST  UF  EDITIONS  AND  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

Romeo  utui  Julie,  von  A.  W.  Schlegel      .  .  . .  .  .       Berlin,  1849 

Romeo  und  Julie,  von  F.  Jexken    .  .  .  .  .  .       Mainz,  1S53 

Romeo  und  Julie,  von  E.  Lobedanz  .  ,  .  .  .     Leipsic,  1855 

Romeo  und  Julie,  von  W.  Jordan*  .  .  .  .  Hildburgli.  1865 

Die  Familien   Capulcti   und   Montechi,  Romantische  Oper  in  drey 
Acten — Italian  and  German,  with  Music  by  Bellini. 


FRENCH    TRANSLATIONS. 

Romeo  et  Juliette,  en  vers  libres       .  .  .  .  .  .  ,  .        Paris.  1771 

Romeo  et  Juliette,  adapts  h.  la  sc6ne  Frangaise  par  DuciS    ,  .        Paris,  1772 
Romeo  et  Juliette,  ou    Amours  et  infortunes  de  deux  Amants,  par 

A.  Pecatier    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .        Paris,  1854 

Romeo  et  Juliette,  Sinfonie  Dramatique,  par  Berlioz         .  .        Paris,  1835 
Romeo  et  Juliette,  Nouvelle    Edition,   Texte   Frangais  et  Allemand. 

Leipzig,  1859 
Romeo  et  Juliette,  Edition  pour  le  Theatre,  par  E.  Deschamps  *  Paris,  1864 
Romeo  et  Juliette,  folic- vaudeville  en  un  acte,  par  L.  de  Montchamp 

et  A.  Delormel*        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .        Paris,  i86j 


ITALIAN    translations. 

fiomeo  e  Giitlia,   per  Musica,  in  due  Atti,  per  S.  A.  S.  Monsignore 

U  Principe  Eriditario  di  Brunswick.   Composto  dal  Sanseverino. 

Berlin,  1773 
Avventure  di  Giulietta  e  Romeo,  di  Davide  Bertolotti  .  .  Milano,  n.  d. 
Romeo  e   Giulietta,    Romanzo  Storico    di    Regnault   de   Warin. 

Prima  Traduzione  Italianaf      ..  ..  ..  ..     Verona,  1812 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  tradotta  dall'  Inglese      .  .  .  .  .  .       Roma,   1826 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  tradotta  da  Barbieri     .  .  .  .  .  .     Milano,  1831 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  Novella  storica,  di  LuiGi  DA  PoRTO,  tScc.  Pisa,  1831 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  Novelle  due  scritte,  da  LuiGi  da  Porto  e  da 

Bandello        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .    Firenze,  1831 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  versione  di  Garbarini  .  .  .  .  .  .     Milano,  1847 

Romeo  e  Giulietta,  traduzione  di  Carcaxo  .  .  .  .  .  .     Milano. 

/  Capuleti  ed  I  Montecchi,  a  Tragic  Opera  in  Two  Acts,  Italian  and 

English.  .  ..  ..    London,  1833 


DUTCH    TRANSLATIONS. 


Romeo  en  Juliette,  door  Jacob  Struys.  An  Imitation  of  Shakes- 
peare.  {^t&  Notes  and  (2ueries,^.S.,\-o\.\yi,^.\<^>)     Amsterdam,  1634 

Romeo  en  Juliette,  Treurspel  in  5  bedryven  ;  uit  het  Engelsch  door 

J.  van  Lennep  ,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  Amsterdam,  1853 


•  Mentioned  in  the  Bibliography  by  Mr  Albert  Cohn,  in  the  Jdhrbuch  dtr  Deulschen  Gtult 
tcka/l,  1865. 
t  This  vol'une,  in  the  present  Editor's  possession,  is  not  mentioned  in  Lowndks. 


LIST  OF  EDI  110 NS  AND  TRANSLATIONS.  xxiii 

SWEDISH    TRANSLATION. 

Romeo  och  Julia,  Sorgspel  ofvers.  af  F.  A.  Dahlgren.       Stockholm,  1845 


BOHEMIAN    TRANSLATIONS. 


Romeo  a  Julia.   Tuchlora  w  pateru  gedndnj  prelozina  od  Fr.  Daucha. 

Prage,  1847 
Romeo  a  Julia.     Prelozil  Dr.  J.  Cejka       .  .  .  .  Prag,  1861 


WALLACHIAN   TRANSLATION. 

Rome  szi  Julietta,  trad,  de  T.  Bahdat  Bukareszt,  1848 


BENGALEE    TRANSLATION. 


Romiyo-0-Juliyet.       (Mentioned    in    the    'General    Catalogue    of 

Orieatal  Books,'  published  at  Agra.)  Calcutta,  n.  d.  (1818  ?J 


\ 


Romeo  and  Juliet 


i 


DRAMATIS    PERSON.E.' 

EscALUS,  prince  of  Verona, 

Paris,  a  young  nobleman,  kinsman  to  the  prince. 

Montague,  \  ^^_^^^  ^^  ^^^.^  Houses  at  variance  with  each  other. 

Cap  u  LET,     ) 

Romeo,  son  to  Montague. 

Mercutio,  kinsman  to  the  prince,  and  friend  to  Romeo. 

Benvolio,  nephew  to  Montague,  and  friend  to  Romeo. 

Tykalt,  nephew  to  Lady  Capulet. 

An  old  man,  of  the  Capulet  family. ' 

Friar  Laurenxe,  a  Franciscan. 

Friar  John,  of  the  same  order. 

Balthasar,  servant  to  Romea 

y  servants  to  CaouleL 
Gregory,  ) 

Peter,  servant  to  Juliet's  nurse. 

Akraham,'  servant  to  Montague. 

An  Apothecary. 

Three  Musicians. 

Page  to  Paris  ;  another  Page  ;  an  Officer. 

Lady  Montague,  wife  to  Montague. 
Lady  Capulet,  wife  to  Capulet. 
Juliet,  daughter  to  Capulet. 
Nurse  to  Juliet. 

Citizens  of   Verona ;    Kinsfolk  of   both  Houses  ;    Maskers,  Liuardu, 
Watchmen,  and  Attendants. 

Chorus. 

Scene  :    Verona  :  Mantua. 


'  Dramatis  PERSONit.]  Dyce,  Cambr.     First  given,  imperfectly,  by  Rowe. 
•  of  the. ..family]  his  cousin,  Capell.     Uncle  to  Capulet,  Var. 
'  Abraham]  Dyce,  Cambr.     Abram,  Var.  et  cet. 
2 


THE  TRAGEDY   OF 


Romeo  and  Juliet. 


PROLOGUE. 


Enter  Chorus. 

Chor.   Two  households,  both  ahke  in  dignity, 

In  fair  Verona,  where  we  lay  our  scene, 
From  ancient  grudge  break  to  new  mutiny. 

Where  civil  blood  makes  civil  hands  unclean. 
From  forth  the  fatal  loins  of  these  two  foes  $ 

A  pair  of  star-cross'd  lovers  take  their  life  ; 
Whose  misadventured  piteous  overthrows 

Do  with  their  death  bury  their  parents'  strife. 

Prologue.     Enter  Chorus.     Chor.]  i — 14.  Two...mend.'\   Om.  Ff.  Rowe 

Dyce  (ed.  2),  Camb.  Edd.  The  Prologue.         inserts  ad  fin. 
Corus  or  Chorus.    Qq.  8.    Do\  Rowe.  Doth  Qq.  Ulr.  Sta. 

Enter  Chorus]  Mal.  This  I  suppose  meant  only  that  the  prologue  was  I0  be 
spoken  by  the  same  person  who  personated  the  Chorus  at  the  end  of  the  first  Art. 
\^Har.  Coll.  Verp.  Huds.  White,  Hal.  Clarke. 

Ulr.  This  was  the  usual  name  of  the  person  who  spoke  the  prologues  and  epi- 
logues to  the  play  or  to  single  acts — a  custom  derived  from  those  older  dramas 
which  (like  the  Gorboduc  of  Lord  Sackville  and  Th.  Norton,  1562),  modeled  on  the 
antique,  adopted  the  Chorus,  and  employed  it  as  a  Prologue.  This  Chorus  is  proba- 
bly not  Sh.'s,  and  was  therefore  omitted  by  Heminge  and  Condell. 

8.  Do]  Coll.  "Doth"  is  a  grammatical  error,  not  corrected  in  subsequent 
editions. 

Ulr.  The  old  reading  may  be  justified  in  two  ways.  First  of  all,  Percy,  one  ot 
the  most  thorough  scholars  in  Old  English  literature,  remarks  that  in  Old  English 

3 


4  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [prologub 

The  fearful  passage  of  their  death-mark'd  love, 

And  the  continuance  of  their  parents'  rage,  lO 

Which,  but  their  children's  end,  nought  could  remove 
Is  now  the  two  hours'  traffic  of  our  stage ; 

The  which  if  you  with  patient  ears  attend, 

What  here  shall  miss,  our  toil  shall  strive  to  mend. 

{_Exit. 

14.     here'\  heart  Qj. 

[exit]  Capell,  Dyce  (ed.  2).    Om.  The  rest. 

not  only  the  third  person  singular  but  also  the  third  person  plural  has,  in  the  present 
tense,  the  "inal  syllable  eth ;  and  Toilet  traces  this  to  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  which  it 
is  the  grammatical  rule,  corresponding  to  the  Danish-Saxon  that  has  only  es  instead 
of  eth.  Shakspere  thus  may  have  adhered  to  the  Old  English  form  here  and  there, 
where  it  suited  him.  He  mostly  uses  it,  however  (and  this  is  the  second  reason  in 
favor  of  "Doth'"),  only  where,  at  all  events,  it  has  the  force  of  the  singular — namely, 
where  the  sense  is  collective,  and  the  plural  (as  here,  "  overthrows")  has  essentially 
the  signification  of  the  singular. 

White.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  the  disagreement  [of  "Doih'"'\  with  the  nomi> 
native  is  the  result  of  a  misprint  or  of  any  other  error. 

12.  two  hours]  Del.  This  time  as  the  probable  duration  of  one  of  Sh.'s  dramai 
occurs  also  in  the  Prologue  to  Hen.  VHI : — "  may  see  away  their  shilling  Richly  if 
two  short  hoon." 


ACT  I,  sc.  i.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.     Verona.     A  public  place. 

Enter  Sampson  and  Gregory,  of  the  house  of  Capulet,  with  swords  and  bucklers. 

Sam.     Gregory,  on  my  word,  we'll  not  carry  coals. 

Act  I.    Scene  i.]     Actus    Primus.  of.. ..Capulet.    QqFf.    oddly  arm'd.   Ca- 

Sccena  Prima.  Ff.     Om.  in  Qq.  pell. 

A  public  Place.]    Capell.  The  Street  i.  w]  Qq.  Pope,  &c.,  Coll.  Ulr.  Del. 

in  Verona.   Rowe.  White,  Camb.  Edd.     A  F.FaFj.     a  F^, 

of  the.... bucklers.]  with.... bucklers,  Rowe.    o' Capell,  Var.  et  cet. 

Stage  Direction]  Camb.  Edd.  There  is  no  division  into  Acts  and  Scenes  in  the 
Quartos,  nor  any  trace  of  division  in  the  Folios,  except  the  "  Actus  Primus,  Scsena 
Prima"  at  the  beginning  of  the  play. 

I.  carry  coals]  Steev.  Warburton  observes  that  this  was  a  phrase  formerly  m 
use  to  signify  the  bearing  of  injuries;  but,  as  he  gives  no  instances,  I  subjoin  the 
following.  Nash  in  his  Have  With  you  to  Saffron  Walden,  1595,  says:  "We  will 
bear  no  coles,  I  warrant  you."  Again,  in  Marston's  Antonio  and  Mellida,  second 
part,  1602:  "He  has  had  wrongs;  and  if  I  were  he  I  would  bear  no  coles." 
Again,  in  Law  Tricks,  by  John  Day,  1608  :  "  I'll  carry  coals  an  you  will,  no  horns." 
In  May-Day,  by  Chapman,  1610  [in  SiNG.,  1608]  :  "You  must  swear  by  no  man's 
beard  but  your  own,  for  that  may  breed  a  quarrel ;  above  all  things  you  must  carr)- 
no  coals."  "  Now,  my  ancient  being  a  man  of  an  un-coal-carrying  spirit,"  etc. 
Again,  in  Ben  Jonson's  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour :  "  Here  comes  one  that 
will  carry  coals;  ergo,  will  hold  my  dog."  \_Char,t.'\  In  Hen.  V:  III,  ii,  49  :  "At 
Calais  they  stole  a  fire-shovel ;  I  knew  by  that  piece  of  ser^'ice  the  men  would  carry 
coals."  \^Sing.  Huds."]  Again,  in  The  Malcontent,  1604 :  "  Great  slaves  fear  better 
dan  love,  bom  naturally  for  a  coal-basket."      \Hal. 

Percy.  This  phrase  continued  in  use  to  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  In  a  little 
satirical  piece  of  Sir  John  Birkenhead,  entitled  Two  Centuries  [of  books]  of  St. 
Paul's  Churchyard,  etc.,  published  after  the  death  of  King  Charles  I,  No.  22,  p.  50, 
is  inserted  "Fire  I  fire  I  a  small  manual,  dedicated  to  Sir  Arthur  Haselridge;  iu 
which  it  is  plainly  proved  by  a  whole  chauldron  of  Scripture  that  John  Lillbum 
will  not  carry  coals."     By  Dr.  Gouge.      [  Hal. 

Nares.  The  origin  of  the  phrase  is  this,  that  in  every  family  the  scullions,  the 
turnspits,  the  carriers  of  wood  and  coals  were  esteemed  the  very  lowest  of  menials. 
The  latter  in  particular  were  the  servi  servorutn,  the  drudges  of  all  the  rest.  Such 
attendants  upon  the  royal  households  in  progresses  were  jocularly  called  the  "  black- 
guard," and  hence  the  origin  of  that  term  \ Sing.  Huds-I  In  most  of  these  cases 
charcoal  is  probably  n  ean* 
1* 


6  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  L 

Gre.  No,  for  then  we  should  be  coUiers. 
Sayn.     I  mean,  an  we  be  in  choler,  we'll  draw. 

Grc.  Ay,  while  you  live,  draw  your  neck  out  o'  the  collar. 
Sam.     I  strike  quickly,  being  moved.  5 

Grc.  But  thou  art  not  quickly  moved  to  strike. 
Savi.     A  dog  of  the  house  of  Montague  moves  me. 

Gre.  To  move  is  to  stir,  and  to  be  valiant  is  to  stand :  there- 
fore,  if  thou  art  moved,  thou  runn'st  away. 

3.  fl«]Theob.  a«</Qq.  »/Ff,  Rowe,  Capell.  White.  otU  of  (^fl^.  out  of  tnt 
Km.  (ed.  l),  Cham.  Q^Q^,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  et  cet. 

4.  OM/o'M^]  Huds.  Dyce.Sta.  Cambr.  8,9.  As  prose,  Pope,  from  (Q,).  Two 
cut  o"  tk  F,F,.    out  0'  th'  F  F^,  Rowe,  lines,  the  first  ending  stand:  in  QqFf. 

Knt.  Upon  a  passage  in  Ben  Jonson's  "  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,"  Gifford 
has  this  note :  "  In  all  great  houses,  but  particularly  in  the  royal  residences,  there 
were  a  number  of  mean  and  dirty  dependants  whose  office  it  was  to  attend  to  tho 
wood-yard  and  sculleries,  etc.  Of  these  (for  in  the  lowest  deep  there  was  a  deeper 
still),  the  most  forlorn  wretches  seem  to  have  been  selected  to  carry  coals  to  the 
kitchen,  halls,  etc.  To  this  smutty  regiment,  who  attended  the  progresses  and  rode 
in  the  cart  with  the  pots  and  kettles,  which,  with  every  other  article  of  furniture, 
were  then  moved  from  palace  to  palace,  the  people  in  derision  gave  the  name  of 
blackguards,  a  term  since  become  familiar,  and  never  properly  explained."  \_Com. 
Sta.  Dyce.'\  In  this  passage  from  Ben  Jonson,  we  find  the  primary  meaning  of  the 
expression — that  of  being  fit  for  servile  offices ;  in  a  subsequent  passage  we  have  tho 
secondary  meaning — that  of  tamely  submitting  to  an  affront.  Puntarvolo  insults  Shift, 
who,  he  supposes,  has  taken  his  dog ;  upon  which  another  character  exclaims :  "  Take 
heed.  Sir  Puntarvolo,  what  you  do  1  he'll  bear  no  coals,  I  can  tell  you."  Gifford 
gives  an  illustration  of  this  meaning  (which  is  the  sense  in  which  Sh.  here  uses  it) : 
— "  the  queen  was  exceedingly  well  satisfied :  saying  that  you  were  too  like  some 
body  in  the  world,  to  whom  she  is  afrayde  you  are  a  little  kin,  to  be  content  to  carry 
coales  at  any  Frenchman's  hand."     Secretary  Cecyll  to  Sir  Henry  Neville,  March  2, 

"559. 
White.  This  phrase  was  euphemistic  slang  for  "to  put  up  with  an  insult." 
Dyce.  To  submit  to  any  degradation  ("II  a  du  feu  en  la  teste.  Hee  is  very 
thollericke,  furious,  or  couragious ;  he  will  carrie  no  coaler."  Cotgrave's  Fr.  and 
Engl.  Diet.,  sub.  "Teste").  "To  carry  coals,  in  the  senae  of  tamely  putting  up 
an  affront,  occurs  perpetually  in  our  old  writers,  both  serious  and  comic."  Gifford'i 
Jonson,  vol.  ii,  p.  169.  (In  Lyly's  Midas,  mention  is  made  of  "one  of  the  Cole 
hoaic,"  sig.  V  4,  ed.  1592 — f.  e.,  one  of  the  drudges  about  the  palace  of  Midas.) 

2.  colliers.]  Steev.  A  very  ancient  term  of  abuse.  Twelfth  Night,  III,  iv,  130. 
Any  person  who  would  bear  to  be  called  a  collier  was  said  to  carry  coals.  It  after- 
wards became  descriptive  of  any  one  who  would  endure  a  gibe  or  flout.  So,  in 
Churchyard's  Farewell  to  the  World,  1598:  "  He  carried  coales  that  could  abide  no 
gest."      IHal. 

Halliwell  adds  instances  from  Stephens'  Essayes,  1615;  Autobiography  of  Sii 
John  Bramsion,  p.  42;  Wild's  Iter  Boreale,  1670,  p.  65;  Canidia,  or  the  Witches, 
1 68  3. 


4CT  I,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  7 

Sam.  A  dog  of  that  house  shall  move  me  to  stand :  I  will 
take  the  wall  of  any  man  or  maid  of  Montague's.  1 1 

Gre.  That  shows  thee  a  weak  slave ;  for  the  weakest  goes  to 
the  wall. 

Sam.  'Tis  true ;  and  therefore  women,  being  the  weaker  ves- 
sels, are  ever  thrust  to  the  wall :  therefore  I  will  push  Mon- 
tague's men  from  the  wall  and  thrust  his  maids  to  the  wall.       16 

G7'e.     The  quarrel  is  between  our  masters  and  us  their  men. 

Sam.  'Tis  all  one,  I  will  show  myself  a  tyrant:  when  I  have 
tought  with  the  men,  I  will  be  cruel  with  the  maids ;  I  will  cu* 
off  their  heads.  20 

Gre.     The  heads  of  the  maids  ? 

Sa7n.  Ay,  the  heads  of  the  maids,  or  their  maidenheads; 
take  it  in  what  sense  thou  wilt. 

Gre.     They  must  take  it  in  sense  that  feel  it. 

Sa7n.  Me  they  shall  feel  while  I  am  able  to  stand :  and  'tis 
known  I  am  a  pretty  piece  of  flesh.  26 

10,11.     Prose,    Pope.      Two    lines,  civillY^.     «Vz7  F  F^,  Rowe,  Knt.  Coll. 

QqFf.  (ed,  I). 

12.     a  weak  slave"]  weake  slave  F^F^.  19.     /  will  cut\  and  cut  Ff,  Rowe, 

weak,  slave  F^.  &c.,  Knt.  Dyce. 

14.     '7i>  true]      Tis  true  Q^Q^Q^.  21.     maids?]   maids.   Q^Q,.    ntaides. 

True  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.,  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Q^.    maids  !  Q  . 

Huds.  Dyce,  Sta.  22.     their]    the  Warb.    from    (Q,)f 

14,15.    weaker  vessels]  weakest  vessels  Johns. 

FjF^,  Rowe,  &c.    weakest  Warb.  Johns.  24.     in]  om.  Q^QjF,,  Knt. 

17.     us]  wo/ «j  Martley  conj.*  25,  26.     Two  lines,  the  first  ending 

19.     cruel]    ciuil  Q,.      ciuill  Q^F,.  stand:  Ff. 

19.  I  will  be  cruel]  Coll.  (ed.  i),  "civil"  perhaps  a  misprint  for  cruel;  bul 
Sampson  may  mean  to  speak  ironically. 

Del.    Irony  here  in  Sampson's  mouth  would  be  out  of  place.    [Wr. 

Coll.  (ed.  2),  "cruel"  the  emendation  of  the  (MS.).  The  misprint  of  civil  foi 
"cruel"  is  allowed  to  remain  in  Greene  and  Lodge's  "  Looking  Glass  for  London  and 
England"  (Dyce's  edit,  i,  74),  "And  play  the  civil  wanton"  for  " crw/f/ wanton." 

Dyce  (ed.  2),  "cruel."  On  this  word  Coll.  (ed.  2)  has  a  note,  in  which  he  shows 
his  ignorance  of  our  old  language.  [The  foregoing  note  of  Coll.  quoted.]  The 
passage  in  question  is, 

"  Madam,  unless  you  coy  it  trick  and  trim, 
And  play  the  civil  wanton  ere  you  yield,"  »tc. ; 

where  "  civil"  means  grave,  sober.  The  same  author  in  his  Never  too  Late,  speaK- 
ing  of  the  courtesans  of  Troynovant  [i.e.,  London),  tells  us  that  "she  that  holdeth 
in  her  eie  most  ciuility,  hath  oft  in  hir  heart  most  dishonestie,  being  like  the  pyrit 
Stone  that  is  fier  without  and  frost  within."  See  my  Account  of  Greene  and  his 
Writings,  p.  8,  ed.  1861. 


8  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act.  i,  sc.  I 

Gre.  'Tis  well  thou  art  not  fish ;  if  thou  hadst,  thou  hadst 
been  poor  John.  Draw  thy  tool ;  here  comes  two  of  the  house 
of  the  Montagues. 

Enter  ABRAHAM  and  Balthasar. 

Sam.  My  naked  weapon  is  out :  quarrel ;  I  will  back  thee. 

Gre.  How!  turn  thy  back  and  run  ?  3 1 

Sam.  Fear  me  not. 

Gre.  No,  marry  ;  I  fear  thee  ! 

Sam.  Let  us  take  the  law  of  our  sides  ;  let  them  begin.       34 

Gre,  I  will  frown  as  I  pass  by,  and  let  them  take  it  as  they  list 

Sam.  Nay,  as  they  dare.  I  will  bite  my  thumb  at  them ;  which 
is  a  disgrace  to  them,  if  they  bear  it. 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir  ? 

28.     comes  two  of]  Mai.,  from  (Q,).  servingmen,   QqFf.     After  line  37,  by 

comes  of  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.,  Knt.  Ulr.  Dyce,  White,  Clarke, 

Del.  Sta.  31.     runf^run.Y^^. 

28,  29.     kotue  of  ihe]  house  of,  Qq.  32.     thee .']  Qj.    thee.  The  r«^t,  Rowe. 

Cambr.  Pope. 

Enter...]  Rowe.     tnter  two  other  37.  a]  om.  k^^. 

a8.  poor  John]  Sta.  The  fish  called  hake,  an  inferior  sort  of  cod,  when  dried 
and  salted,  was  probably  the  staple  fare  of  servants  and  the  indigent  during  Lent ; 
and  this  sorry  dish  is  perpetually  ridiculed  by  the  old  writers  as  poor  fohn.  [Sub- 
stantially also  Mai.  Sing.  Huds.  Coll.  Dyce,  Cham. 

Cham.  The  Gadus  merluccius. 

28.  here  comes  two]  Mal.  The  partisans  of  the  Montagues  wore  a  token  in 
their  hats  to  distinguish  them  from  their  enemies,  the  Capulets.  Hence,  throughout 
this  play,  they  are  known  at  a  distance.  This  circumstance  is  mentioned  by  Ga»- 
coigne,  in  a  Devise  of  a  Masque,  written  for  Viscount  Montacute,  1575: 

*'  And  for  a  further  proofe,  he  shewed  in  hys  hat 
Thys  token  which  the  Mouni,-icutet  did  beare  alwaies,  for  that 
They  covet  to  be  knowne  from  Capelt,  where  they  pass, 
For  ancient  grutch  whych  long  ago  'tweene  these  two  houses  was." 

The  disregard  of  concord  is  in  character.     \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal.  Clarke. 

Del.  The  omission  of  the  nominative  is  characteristic  of  the  careless  familiar 
»Jk  of  servants.     Here  comes  (something)  of  the  house  of  Montague. 

Especially  [adds  Ui.R.]  as  this  indefiniteness  has  a  tone  of  contempt. 

36.  I  will  bite  my  thumb  at  them]  Steev.  Lodge,  in  Wits  Miserie,  &c., 
1596:  "  Behold  next  I  see  Contempt  marching  forth,  giving  me  the  fico  with  his 
ikombe  in  hi-  mouth."     [Sing.  Knt.  Huds.  Dyce,  White,  Hal. 

Mal.  This  mode  of  quarreling  appears  to  have  been  common  in  oar  author*! 
time.  "  What  swearing  is  there"  (says  Decker,  describing  the  groups  that  frequented 
the  walks  of  St.  Paul's  Chi  rch),  "what  shouldering,  what  justling,  what  jeering, 


/LCT  I,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  9 

Sam.  I  do  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir?                                40 

Sam.  Is  the  law  of  our  side,  if  I  say  ay  ? 

Gre.  No. 

Sam.  No,  sir,  I  do  not  bite  my  thumb  at  you,  sir ;  but  I  bite 
my  thumb,  sir. 

Gre.  Do  you  quarrel,  sir  ?                                                       45 

Abr.  Quarrel,  sir!  no,  sir. 

41.     [Aside    to  Gre.]     Capell,   Sta.  42.     No\    Aside    by    Capell,     Dyce 

Clarke,  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr.  (ed.  2). 

«?/■]  on  Qj,  Pope,  &c.,  Var.  Sing.  46.     sir!  no,}  Dyce,  Cambr.  sir,  na 

Ktly.  Qq.  sir F  no  Ff.  sir?  no,  Rowe,  &c., 

Capell,  Var.  et  cet. 

what  by  ting  of  thumbs,  to  beget  quarrels.'^'     The  Dead  Term,  1608.     \_Sing.  Com. 

Knt.  Coll.  Huds.  White,  Dyce,  Hal.  Clarke. 

Nares.  The  thumb  in  this  action  represented  a  fig,  and  the  whole  was  equivalent 

to  a  fig  for  vou,  or  the  fico. 

Dags  and  pistols  I 
TV  Hit  kit  thumb  at  me  I 

Wear  I  a  sword 
To  see  men  bite  their  thumbs  ? 

Randolph,  Muses'  L.  Glass.  O.  PI.  ix,  lao.    [Sing. 

Knt.  There  can  be  little  doubt,  we  apprehend,  that  this  mode  of  insult  was 
originally  peculiar  to  Italy,  and  was  perhaps  a  mitigated  form  of  the  greater  insult 
of  making  the  fig  or  fico,  that  is,  thrusting  out  the  thumb  in  a  peculiar  manner 
between  the  fingers.  Douce  has  bestowed  much  laborious  investigation  upon  this 
difficult  and  somewhat  worthless  subject.  The  commentators  have  not  distinctly 
alluded  to  what  appears  to  us  the  identity  of  biting  the  thumb  and  the  fico ;  but  the 
passage  in  Lodge's  "  Wits  Miserie"  clearly  shows  that  the  customs  were  one  and 
the  same. 

Sing.  The  mode  in  which  this  contemptuous  action  was  performed  is  thus 
described  by  Cotgrave,  in  a  passage  which  has  escaped  the  industry  of  all  the  com- 
mentators :  "  Faire  la  nique :  to  mocke  by  nodding  or  lifting  up  the  chinne ;  or  more 
properly,  to  threaten  or  defie,  by  putting  the  thumbe  naile  into  the  mouth,  and  -vith 
A  jerke  (from  the  upper  teeth)  make  it  to  knacke."  [Cor-n.  Huds.  Dyce,  Sta. 
Hal.  Cham.  Clarke. 

Hunter.  A  trait  of  Italian  manners.  Thus  Fuller,  in  his  Abel  Redivivus,  p.  38, 
after  relating  a  conversation  between  Luther  and  a  messenger  of  Cardinal  Cajetan, 
says,  "At  this  the  messenger,  after  the  Italian  manner,  biting  his  thumbs,  went 
away." 

Sta.  This  contemptuous  action,  though  obsolete  in  this  country,  is  still  in  use  both 
in  France  and  Italy ;  but  Knight  is  mistaken  in  supposing  it  identical  with  what 
is  called  giving  the  fico.  Biting  the  thumb  is  performed  by  biting  the  thumb  nail  ; 
or  as  Cotgrave  describes  it  [as  cited  by  Singer]  :  The  more  offensive  gesticulation 
of  giving  the  fico  was  by  thrusting  out  the  thumb  between  the  forefinger*,  or  putting 
it  in  the  mouth  so  as  to  swell  oui  vhe  cheek. 


lO  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  lact  I,  sc  i 

Sam.  If  you  do,  sir,  I  am  for  you  :  I  serve  as  good  a  man  as 
you. 

Abr.  No  better. 

Sam.  W^ell,  sir.  $0 

Enter  BknvoUO. 

Grt.  \_Aside  to  Satn.']  Say  '  better' :  here  comes  one  of  my 
master's  kinsmen. 

Sam.     Yes,  better,  sir. 

Ah".     You  lie.  54 

Sam.  Draw,  if  you  be  men.  Gregory',  remember  thy  swashing 
b'^w.  \They  fight. 

47.     //■]  ^m/ i/Qq.  Sta.  Cambr.  [Aside....]   Capell,   Sta.   Clarke, 

49.  better.']  Qq.  better?  Ff,  Rowe,  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr.  Om.  Var.  et 
Pope,  Del.  cet. 

51.     Enter...]  After  line  56  by  Dyce,  53.     «>]    om.  Ff,  Knt.  Com. 

NNTiite,  Clarke at  a  distance  Var.  55.     swashing]      washing     QjQjFC 

Knt.  Coll.  Del.  Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal.  Rowe. 

Ktly and  Tybalt,  at  a  distance  Ulr. 

Halliwell.  Now  was  I  in  greater  danger,  being  in  peace,  then  before,  when  1 
was  in  battaile :  for  a  generall  murmure  filled  the  ayre  with  threatnings  at  me ;  the 
soldiers  especially  bit  their  thumbes,  and  how  was  it  possible  for  me  to  scape  ?— 
Peeke's  Three  to  One,  1625. 

50.  Enter  Benvolio]  Ulr.  It  is  clear  that  the  words  of  Gregory,  immedi 
ately  following,  refer  to  Tybalt.  Probably  the  omission  of  "  and  Tybalt"  is  a  typo- 
graphical oversight;  "at  a  distance"  is  to  be  referred  to  Tybalt.  At  all  events,  we 
may  be  allowed  to  make  changes  in  such  cases  where  the  connection  demands  them 

51.  here  comes  one]  Steev.  Gregory  may  mean  Tybalt,  who  enters  imme- 
diately after  Benvolio,  but  on  a  different  part  of  the  stage.  The  eyes  of  the  servant 
may  be  directed  the  way  he  sees  Tybalt  coming,  and  in  the  mean  time  Benvolio 
enters  on  the  opposite  side.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

Sid.  Walker.  Should  not  these  words  be  spoken  aside? 

55.  thy  swashing  blow.]  Steev.  Jonson  in  his  Staple  of  News  :  "  I  do  confess 
a  swashing  blow."  Again  in  As  You  Like  It:  I,  iii,  122.  To  swash  seems  to  have 
Dxant  to  be  a  bully,  to  be  noisily  valiant.  Barrett,  in  his  Alvearie,  15S0,  says  that 
**to  swash  is  to  make  a  noise  with  swords  against  tergats."     \^CoU.  Verp.  Huds. 

Nares.  Exactly  as  we  now  say  dashing ;  spirited  and  calculated  to  surprise.  Also 
[as  in  this  place]  violent,  overpowering. 

Knt.  Samson  and  Gregory  are  described  as  armed  with  swords  and  bucklers. 
The  swashing  blow  is  a  blow  upon  the  buckler;  the  blow  accompanied  with  a  noise; 
»nd  thus  a  swasher  came  to  be  synonymous  with  a  quarrelsome  fellow,  a  braggart. 
In  Henry  V,  Bardolph,  Pistol,  and  Nym  are  called  by  the  boy  three  "  swashers." 
Ilolinshed  has:  "a  man  may  se^  how  many  bloody  quarrels  a  brawling  swash 
buckler  may  pick  out  of  a  bottle  of  hay;"  and  Fuller,  in  his  "Worthies,"  aftei 
defcril  ing  a  swaggerer  as  one  that  endeavors  to  make  that  side  to  swagger,  or  weigb 


\ 


ACTI,  SC.  i.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  II 

Ben.     Part,  fools  !  [Beating  down  their  weapons. 

Put  up  your  swords ;  you  know  not  what  you  do. 

Enier  TYBALT. 

Tyb.     What,  art  thou  drawn  among  these  heartless  hinds  ? 
Turn  thee,  Benvolio,  look  upon  thy  death.  6o 

Ben.     I  do  but  keep  the  peace  :  put  up  thy  sword. 
Or  manage  it  to  part  these  men  with  me. 

T)'b.     What,  drawn,  and  talk  of  peace !  I  hate  the  word. 
As  I  hate  hell,  all  Montagues,  and  thee :  64 

Have  at  thee,  coward  !  [They  fight. 

Enter  several  of  both  houses,  who  join  the  fray ;   then  enter  Citizens  and  Peaca 

officers,  with  clubs. 

I  Cit.    Clubs,  bills,  and  partisans !  strike!  beat  them  down ! 
Down  with  the  Capulets !  down  with  the  Montagues ! 

57,  58.     Verse,  Capell,  Dyce,  Cambr.         Enter  three  or  foure  Citizens  with  Qubs. 

57.  [Beating.. .weapons.]  Capell.  Ff,  or  partysons.  Qq  (partisans  Q  ). 

59,  60.     Verse  by  Pope.  Prose,  QqFf.  66.     I   Cit.]    Mai.   Offi.   QqFf.     Cit 

63.  drawn"]  drawne  Qq.  draw  Ff,  Steev.  Citizens.  Clarke,  Dyce  (ed.  2). 
Rowe,  Pope,  Knt.  Com.  Ulr.  Del.  First  Off.  Cambr. 

64.  thee]  the  QjF^.  Down...]      Citizens.        Down... 
Enter...]     Capell,    substantially,         Cambr.  conj. 

down,  whereon  he  engages,  tells  us  that  a  swash-buckler  is  so  called  from  swashing 
or  making  a  noise  on  bucklers. 

Del.  The  •'  washing  blow"  of  the  Ff.  might  be  justified,  at  a  pinch,  as  a  laugh- 
able mistake  for  the  correct  phrase,  purposely  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  servant. 

Sta.    Evidently  it  here  means  a  smashing,  crushing  blow. 

Dyce.  A  blow  that  comes  down  with  noise  and  violence,  an  overpowering  blow. 
("  To  swash  (or  clash  with  swords  and  armour),  Chamailler."  Cotgrave's  Fr.  and 
Eng.  Diet.). 

HALLnvELL.  "  To  fence,  to  swash  with  swords,  to  swagger,"  Florio,  p.  127.  "  To 
swash,  clango,  gladiis  concrefo,"  Coles.  Forby  has  swash,  to  affect  valour,  to  vapour, 
or  swvigger ;  but  these  are  secondary  meanings. 

When  as  the  fight  therefore  grew  exceeding  sharpe  and  hot,  with  much  slaughter 
and  bloudshed,  every  one  who  was  more  readie  to  rush  upon  the  thickest  of  the 
enemies,  whiles  on  all  sides  swords  swashed  and  darts  flew  as  thick  as  haile,  lost  his 
life. — Ammiamis  Marcellinus,  translated  by  Holland,  1 609. 

58.  Enter  Tybalt]  Ulr.  Here  it  is  to  be  understood  that  Tybalt  advances  so  as 
to  be  seen  by  the  spectators. 

63.  drawn]  Del.  "  draw"  agrees  better  with  the  co-ordinate  infinitive  "  talk" 
than  draxun. 

66.  I  Cit.]  White.  In  the  old  copies  this  speech  has  with  manifest  error  the 
prefix  Offi  [cer]. 

66.  Clubs]   Mal.    It  appears  from  many  of  our  old  dramas  that  it  was  a  common 


12  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc  I 

Enter  old  Capulet  in  hu  gown,  and  Lady  Capulet. 

Cap.  What  noise  is  this  ?  Give  me  my  long  sword,  ho ! 
La.  Cap.  A  crutch,  a  crutch  !  why  call  you  for  a  sword  ? 
Cap.     My  sword,  I  say !     Old  Montague  is  come,  70 

And  flourishes  his  blade  in  spite  of  me. 

69.     crutch  (bis)]  crowch  QjQ,Q^.  JO.     My  sword']  A  sword  F^,  Rowe, 

Pope,  Han. 

custom,  on  the  breaking  out  of  a  fray,  to  call  out  '^ Clubs!  Clubs l"  to  part  the  com- 
batants.    So  in  Tit.  And.  II,  i,  37.     [Note  on  As  You  Like  It,  V,  ii,  44.]     \^Sing. 

Knt.  The  cry  of  "clubs"  is  as  thoroughly  of  English  origin  as  the  "bite  my 
thumb"  is  of  Italian.  Scott  has  made  the  cry  familiar  to  us  in  "  The  Fortunes  of 
Nigel ;"  and  when  the  citizens  of  Verona  here  raise  it,  we  involuntarily  think  of  the 
old  watch-maker's  hatcli-door  in  Fleet  Street  and  Jin  Vin  and  Tunstall  darting  off 
for  the  affray.  "  The  great  long  club"  as  described  by  Stow,  on  the  necks  of  the 
London  apprentices,  was  as  characteristic  as  the  flat  cap  of  the  same  quarrelsome 
body,  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  and  James.  The  use  by  Sh.  of  home  phrases,  in  the 
mouths  of  foreign  characters,  was  a  part  of  his  art.  It  is  the  same  thing  as  rendering 
Sancho's  Spanish  proverbs  into  the  corresponding  English  proverbs,  instead  of  liter- 
ally translating  them.  The  cry  of  clubs  by  the  citizens  of  Verona  expressed  an  idea 
of  popular  movement,  which  could  not  have  been  conveyed  half  so  emphatically  in 
a  foreign  phrase.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

Uaz.  As  we  should  now  say,  police. 

Hunter.  This  word  should  probably  be  so  printed  as  to  indicate  that  the  citizen 
called  out,  "  Clubs,"  an  English  expression  used  to  part  combatants.  It  may  still 
sometimes  be  heard,  and  occurs  in  As  You  Like  It,  V,  ii,  44. 

Sta.  Sh.,  whose  wont  it  is  to  assimilate  the  customs  of  all  countries  to  those  of 
his  own,  puts  the  ancient  call  to  arms  of  the  London  'prentices  in  the  mouth  of  the 
Veronese  citizen. 

Dyce.  Originally,  the  cry  to  call  forth  the  London  apprentices,  who  employed  their 
clubs  to  preserve  the  public  peace  :  sometimes,  however,  they  used  those  weapons  to 
raiie  a  disturbance.     See  Hen.  VIII :  V,  iii. 

Clarke.  This  speech  seems  to  be  a  collection  of  exclamations  uttered  by  several 
persons  rather  than  the  words  of  one  person. 

66.  bills.]  Nares.  A  kind  of  pike  or  halbert  formerly  carried  by  the  English 
infantry,  and  afterwards  the  usual  weapon  of  watchmen.  It  is  described  by  Sir  Wm. 
Temple  as  giving  the  most  ghastly  wounds,  which  may  be  imagined  by  the  figures 
of  bills  delineated  in  Steevens's  Shakespeare,  vol.  ii,  p.  316,  ed.  1778.  Johnson  tells 
us  that  these  weapons  were  carried  by  the  watchmen  of  Lichfield  in  1778. 

66.  Fairholt.  These  long-jxipular  weapons  of  the  foot-soldier  were  constructed 
tc  thrust  at  mounted  men,  or  cut  and  damage  their  horse-furniture.  Sometimes  they 
were  provided  with  a  side-hook  to  seize  a  bridle.     \^Dyce. 

66.  partisans.]  Nares.  /VfA<tra«,  Old  French,  a  kind  of  pike  or  halbert.   [5»«f. 
Fairholt.    It  may  be  described  as  a  sharp  two-edged  sword  placed  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  staff  for  the  defence  of  foot-soldiers  against  cavalry.     \^Dyce. 

67.  in  his  gown.]  Del.  Intimating  that  he  has  been  disturbed  in  his  night'i 
rrrt. 


ACTi.  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 3 

Enter  old  Montague  and  Lady  Montague. 

Mon,     Thou  villain  Capulet ! — Hold  me  not,  let  me  go. 
La.  Mon.     Thou  shalt  not  stir  one  foot  to  seek  a  foe. 

Enter  Prince,  with  his  train. 

Prin.     Rebellious  subjects,  enemies  to  peace, 
Profaners  of  this  neighbour-stained  steel, —  75 

Will  they  not  hear  ?     What,  ho !  you  men,  you  beasts, 
That  quench  the  fire  of  your  pernicious  rage 
With  purple  fountains  issuing  from  your  veins, 
On  pain  of  torture,  from  those  bloody  hands 
Throw  your  mistemper'd  weapons  to  the  ground,  80 

And  hear  the  sentence  of  your  moved  prince. 
Three  civil  brawls,  bred  of  an  airy  word. 
By  thee,  old  Capulet,  and  Montague, 
Have  thrice  disturb'd  the  quiet  of  our  streets. 
And  made  Verona's  ancient  citizens  85 

72.  let  me  go]  let  go  S.  Walker  conj.  79.     those"]  these  F^F^F^.  Rowe,  Pope. 

73.  one]  Qq.  a  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  80.  mistemper'd]  mistempered  Q, 
Ulr.  Del.  Dyce  (ed.  i),  White.                       QjQ^. 

Enter   Prince....]    Enter  Prince  [Fray  ceases]  Capell. 

Eskales  Qq  Ff.  (Escalus.  Cambr).  After  82.     brawls]  Broyles  Ff.  broils  Rowe, 

line  74  Coll  (ed.  2).  &c.  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  White. 

75.    steel, — ]  Capell.     steel —  Rowe,  <^''7]  angry  Collier  (MS). 

&c.   Steele,  or  steel,  QqFf.  85.     made]  make  F^. 

68.  long  sword.]  Sing.  This  was  the  weapon  used  in  active  warfare ;  a  lighter, 
shorter,  and  less  desperate  weapon  was  worn  for  ornament,  to  which  we  have  othei 
allusions  :  "  No  sword  worn  but  one  to  dance  with."     [  Clarke. 

75.  Profaners]  Ulr.  This  verse,  and  indeed  the  whole  speech  of  the  Prince, 
reminds  one  of  the  bombastic,  overstrained  diction  of  Marlowe,  whom  Sh.  at  first, 
e.  g.  in  Titus  And.,  took  for  a  model. 

73.  Seek  a  foe.]  Sta.  Q,,  which  is  peculiarly  interesting  from  its  presenting  us 
with  the  poet's  first  projection  of  a  play,  he  subsequently  expanded  and  elaborated 
with  much  care  and  skill,  and  is  valuable  too,  in  helping  us  to  correct  many  typo- 
graphical errors,  and  to  supply  some  lines  omitted  perhaps  by  negligence  in  the  later 
editions,  makes  short  work  of  this  scene. 

80.  mistemper'd.]  Steev.  Angry.  So  in  King  John,  "  This  inundation  of  mis- 
temper'd humor."     \^Sing.  Clarke. 

Del.   With  the  secondary  meaning,  perverted  or  tempered  to  misfortune. 

85.  accient  citizens.]  Del.  Not  of  necessity  those  citizens  who  are  old  in  years, 
but  those  who  have  anciently  settled  there  and  become  accustomed  to  peace  anH 
order. 


<f:- 


:4  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  I.  sc.  L 

Cast  by  their  grave  beseeming  ornaments, 
To  wield  old  partisans,  in  hands  as  old, 
Canker'd  with  peace,  to  part  your  canker'd  hate : 
If  ever  you  disturb  our  streets  again, 

Your  lives  shall  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  peace.  90 

For  this  time,  all  the  rest  depart  away : 
You,  Capulet,  shall  go  along  with  me ; 
And,  Montague,  come  you  this  afternoon, 
To  know  our  farther  pleasure  in  this  case. 

To  old  Free-town,  our  common  judgement-place.  95 

Once  more,  on  pain  of  death,  all  men  depart.  \Exeu7it  all  but 

Montague^  Lady  Mo7itagiie,  and  Benvolio. 

86.  Cast  by\  Cast-by  Dyce  (ed,  2),  Var.  Del.  Huds.  Dyce.     Fathers  Q^F, 
omaments'\  ornament  F^F  .  ^a^3*    Father's  F  . 

87.  old'\  our  Camp.  96.     [Exeunt....]      Huds.      Exeunt. 

94.  farther']  further  Qj,  Rowe,  &c.         QqFf.  Exeunt  Prince  and  Capulet,  &c., 

Rowe. 

86.  grave  beseeming.]    Walker  {'Crii.^  vol.  I,  p.  24)  "grave-beseeming;"  i.  e. 

beseeming  gravity,  ere/ivoTpe-rrcic.      (Compare  Hamlet  IV,  vii : 

" for  youth  no  less  becomes 

The  light  and  careless  livery  that  it  wears. 
Than  settled  age  his  sables,  and  his  weeds. 
Importing  health  and  graveness.") 

k.nd  so  perhaps  Spenser  F.  Q.  vi,  xxxvi : 

" he  toward  them  did  pace 

With  staged  steps  and  grave-beseeraing  grace ;" 

though  here  I  am  not  quite  certain. 

88.  cankered  vv^ith  peace]  Del.  Rust,  through  long  years  of  peace,  has  eatra 
into  the  partisans,  just  as  hate  has  into  the  hearts  of  the  rival  factions. 

95.  To  old  Free-town]  Mal.  This  name  the  poet  found  in  the  Tragicall  His- 
tory of  Romeus  and  Juliet,  1562.  It  is  there  said  to  be  the  castle  of  the  Capulets. 
[Sing. 

White.    This  name  is  but  a  translation  of  Vi//a  Franca  of  the  old  Italian  story. 

Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  11,  p.  151,  ed.  1836).  With  his  accustomed  judgment, 
Shakespeare  has  begun  by  placing  before  us  a  lively  picture  of  all  the  impulses  of 
the  play ;  and  as  nature  ever  presents  two  sides,  one  for  Heraclitus  and  one  for  Democ 
ritus,  he  has,  by  way  of  prelude,  shown  the  laughable  absurdity  of  the  evil  by  the 
contagion  of  it  reaching  the  servants,  who  have  so  little  to  do  with  it,  but  who  are 
ander  the  necessity  of  letting  the  superfluity  of  sensorial  power  fly  off"  through  the 
escape-valve  of  wit-combats,  and  of  quarreling  with  weapons  of  a  sharper  edge,  all 
in  humble  imitation  of  their  masters.  Yet  there  is  a  sort  of  unhired  fidelity,  an 
(yuriskness  about  all  this,  that  makes  it  rest  pleasant  on  one's  feelings.  All  the  first 
icene,  down  to  the  conclusion  of  the  Prince's  speech,  is  a  motley  dance  of  all  rankj 
and  ages  to  one  tune,  as  if  the  horn  of  Huon  had  been  playing  behind  the  scenes 
{Huds. 


ACTi,  sc.  i.J  JHOMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 5 

Mon.     Who  set  this  ancient  quarrel  new  abroach  ? 
Speak,  nephew,  were  you  by  when  it  began  ? 

Ben.     Here  were  the  servants  of  your  adversary 
And  yours  close  fighting  ere  I  did  approach :  lOO 

I  drew  to  part  them :  in  the  instant  came 
The  fiery  Tybalt,  with  his  sword  prepared ; 
Which,  as  he  breathed  defiance  to  my  ears. 
He  swung  about  his  head,  and  cut  the  winds, 
Who,  nothing  hurt  withal,  hiss'd  him  in  scorn :  105 

While  we  were  interchanging  thrusts  and  blows. 
Came  more  and  more,  and  fought  on  part  and  part, 
Till  the  prince  came,  who  parted  either  part. 

La.  Mon.     O,  where  is  Romeo  ?  saw  you  him  to-da^  ' 
Right  glad  I  am  he  was  not  at  this  fray.  1 10 

Ben.     Madam,  an  hour  before  the  worshipp'd  sun 
Peer'd  forth  the  golden  window  of  the  east, 
A  troubled  mind  drave  me  to  walk  abroad ; 

97.     Scene  ii.  Pope,  Warb.  Johns.  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Mon.]  QqFf.    La.  Moun.  Rowe,  1 13.     drave\  drive  Q^^,  Momm. 

&c.  drave. ..abroad"]    drew    me  fron 

105.  hiss'd"]  Jiiss' d  Koyre  (ed.  2).*  company  (QJ  Pope,    drew  me  to  walk 

106.  thrusts']  thrust  Q.  abroad  Th^db.  Sec.    dreto  me  from  can- 
no.     /  am]    Qj.     am   I  The   rest,  ^/ Warb.  conj.  apud  Theob. 

li.;    Peer'd  forth]  Steev.   So  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  b.  ii,  c.  10 : 

"  Early  before  the  mom  with  cremosin  ray 
The  windoTVi  of  bright  heaven  opened  had 
Through  which  into  the  world  the  dawning  day 
Might  looke,"  etc.  [Sing. 

Holt  White.   Again;  in  Summa  Totalis,  or  All-in-all,  4to,  1607  : 

"  Now  heaven's  bright  eye  (awake  by  Vesper's  sheene)  ['  shrine'  Sing.'] 
Peei>es  through  tkt  fiurfiU  windowes  of  the  East."  {Sing. 

113.  drave]  Mommsen.  Q^  has  drive  =  impulit.  At  the  first  glance  this  would 
iook  like  a  misprint,  and  in  truth  Q  and  all  succeeding  Quartos  have  drave.  But 
Spenser,  F.  Q.  3,  4,  37,  makes  the  mother  thus  lament  over  Marinell  after  he  had 
been  grievously  wounded  by  Britomart,  and  told  by  Proteus  that  he  had  been 
wounded  by  a  woman  : 

Fond  Proteus,  fether  of  false  prophecis. 

And  they  more  fond,  that  credit  to  thee  give. 

Not  this  the  work  of  woman's  hand  ywis. 

That  so  deepe  wound  through  these  deare  members  drive. 

And  Alexander  Gil,  a  contemporary  grammarian  and  the  inventor  of  a  very  interest- 
ing phonetic  alphabet,  sa)rs  in  his  Logonomia  Anglica  (ed.  1621,  p.  49) : 

"  Observandum  qusedam  esse  verba  conjugationis  primje  quae  ratione  dialecti 
lunt  etiam  secundae,  ut  /  write  scribo,  /  writ  scribebam,  /  have  written  sen  )si,  est 


16  ROMEO   AND   JUUET.  [acti.  sc.  L 

AVhere,  underneath  the  grove  of  sycamore 

That  westward  rooteth  from  the  city's  side,  II5 

So  early  walking  did  I  see  your  son : 

Towards  him  I  made ;  but  he  was  ware  of  me, 

And  stole  into  the  covert  of  the  wood : 

I,  measuring  his  affections  by  my  own, 

115.     M<r  f«>y*j]  Mai.,  (Q,).    this  city        Johns.    Mt>  «Vy  Capell.    M^-riVySteev 
The  rest.  Sing.  (ed.  2).    tfu  CityTtitoh.         /Air  rtV/j  Knt.  Sta.    this  city- side  YSij. 

conjugationis  prima?;  at  /  write,  imperfectum  commune  /  wrote,  et  Borealium  1 
wrote,  secundae.  Sic  /  drive,  I  drive  (i  correpta),  /  Aave  driven,  impello,  primae; 
at  /  drive,  I  drtrve,  aut  /  drove,  I  have  driven,  secundae.  Sedulo  autem  cavendum 
est,  ne  locum  dialectis  concedas  praeterquam  communi ;  aut  inter  poetas  Boreali : 
nam  nullum  fere  verbum  est  quod  pro  aurium  sordibus  non  deformant." 

Hereupon  Gil  explains  that  the  Praeterites  in  i  are  more  correct,  and  the  others, 
secondary  fonns.  In  fact  writ  =  scripsi  is  constantly  used  in  Sh. — e.  g.  in  this  play, 
I,  iii,  245.  Also  bid  =  jussi  is  the  constant  form ;  bad  is  only  found  in  I,  iii,  3,  no- 
where bade,  although  our  current  texts  almost  always  thus  write  it.  We  must  not 
be  misled  by  finding  in  the  F,  as  well  as  in  the  Q  of  i  Hen.  IV,  in  the  Q,  of  Mer. 
Wives,  and  in  the  Q,  of  3  Hen.  VI,  the  forms  droue  and  draue,  for  just  as  here  Q 
suppresses  the  older  and  purer  form,  so  it  may  well  have  happened  oftener ;  and  I 
do  not  mean  to  affirm  that  Sh.  did  not  use  the  forms  in  a  and  0.  At  all  events, 
there  is  no  apparent  reason  why  we  should  erase  a  form  found  in  our  best  text,  and 
which  then  passed,  according  to  a  mass  of  testimony,  for  the  purest ;  and  we  should 
therefore  in  future  write,  "A  troubled  mind  drive  me  to  walk  abroad." 

114.  the  grove  of  sycamore.]  Knt.  When  Sh.  has  to  deal  with  descriptions 
of  natural  scenery,  he  almost  invariably  localizes  himself  with  the  utmost  distinct- 
ness. He  never  mistakes  the  sycamore  groves  of  the  south  for  the  birch  woods 
of  the  north.  In  such  cases  he  was  not  required  to  employ  familiar  and  conven- 
tional images  for  the  sake  of  presenting  an  idea  more  distinctly  to  his  audience  than 
a  rigid  adherence  to  the  laws  of  costume  (we  employ  the  word  in  its  large  sense  of 
manners)  would  have  allowed.  The  grove  of  sycamore  "  That  westward  rooteth 
from  this  city's  side"  takes  us  at  once  to  a  scene  entirely  different  from  one  presented 
by  Sh.'s  own  experience.  The  sycamore  is  the  Oriental  plane  (little  known  in 
England,  though  sometimes  found),  spreading  its  broad  branches — from  which  its 
name  plalanus — to  supply  the  most  delightful  of  shades  under  the  sun  of  Syria  c* 
Italy.  Sh.  might  have  found  the  sycamore  in  Chaucer's  exquisite  tale  of  the  Flower 
and  the  Leaf,  where  the  hedge  that 

" closed  in  alW  the  green  arbere. 

With  sycamore  was  set  and  eglantere."     [  yer^. 

Del.  The  sycamore  or  wild  fig  tree  Sh.  has  referred  to  in  Love's  Lab.  Lost,  V, 
li,  and  in  Othello  IV,  iii,  as  a  tree  whose  shade  is  dedicated  to  dejected  lovers. 

Beisly.  Sycamore  (Acer  Pseudo-Platanus),  great  maple.  Miller  says,  "  This  tree 
it  wild  in  Italy,  and  with  us  it  is  vulgarly  called  the  sycamore  tree,  and  by  some 
•mock-plane;'  it  grows  to  a  great  height,  and  has  a  clean  straight  bole,  with  a 
spreading  top.  It  was  formerly  much  planted  for  walks  and  avenues.  The  original 
plantations  of  Vauxhall  and  Marybone  gardens  were  chiefly  of  these  trees." 


ACTi,  sc.  i.j  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 7 

Which  then  most  sought  where  most  might  not  be  found,       120 

Being  one  too  many  by  my  weary  self, 

Pursued  my  humour,  not  pursuing  his. 

And  gladly  shunn'd  who  gladly  fled  from  me. 

Mo7i.     Many  a  morning  hath  he  there  been  seen, 
With  tears  augmenting  the  fresh  morning's  dew,  125 

120.  Which...found'\  Q^.      Which...         &c.  Var.  Knt.  Dyce,  Sta.  Clarke. 
taught,   where. ..found  The    rest,    Coll.  122.     humour\    Q^Qj.     humor    Q,. 
Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Hal.     That  most  are         honour  The  rest. 

busied,  when  they  re  most  alone  Pope,  his']  him  Theob.  (Thirlby  conj). 

&c.  from  (QJ.  Var.    Knt.   Dyce,   Sta.  Han.  Warb.  Johns. 

Clarke.  123.     shunn'd]  shunned  QJ^^Q^. 

Which  then]   Which  there  Ktly.  who]  what  Seymour  conj. 

most... .most]     most, ..more    Allen  125.     morning's]    ?nornings  QqFjF^j. 

conj.  (MS.)  morning  F^F   Rowe,  &c.  morning-dew 

121.  Being.. .self]  Ora.  (Q,),  Pope,  Warb.  Johns. 

Walter  Blith  recommends  the  tree  as  quick  growing,  rising  to  gallant  shade,  and 
excellent  to  make  walks  and  shadow  bowers.  W.  Westmacott,  in  his  "  Scripture 
Herbal,"  says :  "  Our  sycamores  are  raised  more  for  ornament  (they  affording  a 
curious,  dark  and  pleasant  shadow),  and  for  their  speedy  growth,  than  for  any  medi- 
cal property ;  yet  astrologers  regard  it  as  one  of  Venus  her  trees,  'tis  like  to  make 
her  a  shady  walk,  to  cool  her  beauty  and  prevent  sun-burning."  Ph.  Holland's 
translation  of  Pliny's  Natural  History,  states,  "  There  is  no  tree  which  so  defends 
us  from  the  sun's  heat  in  summer,  or  admits  it  more  kindly  in  winter." 

120.  Which  then,  etc.]  Coll.  The  plain  meaning  seems  to  be,  that  Benvolio, 
like  Romeo,  was  indisposed  for  society,  and  sought  to  be  most,  where  most  people 
were  not  to  be  found,  being  one  too  many,  even  when  by  himself.     [  Verp. 

Del,  [Lexicofi,  p.  162]  This  play  of  antitheses,  so  truly  Shakspearian,  betrays  the 
later  touches  of  the  poet's  hand.     [  Ulr. 

Ulr.  Benvolio  means  to  say  that  he  was  in  a  melancholy  state  similar  to  Ro- 
meo's, and  hence  appreciated  the  mood  of  the  latter  by  his  own,  "  which  then  most 
sought  there  where  mostly  nothing  is  to  be  found,"  i.  e.  which  sought  the  most  com- 
fort, the  most  help,  in  solitude,  where  it  is  not  to  be  found.  This  turning  to  soli- 
tude, he  adds,  was  so  strong  in  him  that  he  was  too  much  for  himself,  for  his  own 
weary  self  (for  one  person),  "therefore  he  had  pursued  his  humour,"  etc.  Collier 
I. as  with  true  judgment  restored  the  above  reading,  but  to  his  explanation  of  th*" 
second  "  most,"  as  meaning  "  most  people,"  I  cannot  assent. 

Del.  Benvolio  measured  Romeo's  inclinations  by  his  own,  which  at  that  time 
sought  for  some  solitary  spot  where  other  people  could  not  be  found,  because  he  him- 
self, with  his  own  wearisome  /,  appeared  to  be  too  much  company,  and  followed  his 
own  humour  without  pursuing  Romeo's. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  It  has  been  usual  to  place  a  comma  after  "sought,"  but  we  mast 
understand :  "  Which  then  most  sought  the  place  least  frequented." 

HuDS.  The  meaning  evidently  is,  that  his  disposition  was  to  be  in  solitude,  as  he 
could  hardly  endure  even  so  much  company  as  that  of  himself.  The  reading  of  Q, 
has  been  strangely  preferred  by  some  modem  editors, 

122.  humour]  Coll.  In  all  the  Qq  and  Ff,  excepting  Q^,  "humour"  is  n>i.«- 
D-inted  honour,  but  the  error  is  set  right  by  the  (MS). 

2  *  B 


I  8  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc  L 

\dding  to  clouds  more  clouds  with  his  deep  sighs : 

But  all  so  soon  as  the  all-cheering  sun 

Should  in  the  farthest  east  begin  to  draw 

The  shady  curtains  from  Aurora's  bed, 

Away^  from  light  steals  home  my  heavy  son,  1 30 

And  private  in  his  chamber  pens  himself. 

Shuts  up  his  windows,  locks  fair  daylight  out 

And  makes  himself  an  artificial  night : 

Black  and  portentous  must  this  humour  prove, 

Unless  good  counsel  may  the  cause  remove.  135 

Ben.     My  noble  uncle,  do  you  know  the  cause  ? 

Mon.     I  neither  know  it  nor  can  learn  of  him. 

Bcfi.     Have  you  importuned  him  by  any  means  ? 

Mon.     Both  by  myself  and  many  other  friends : 
But  he,  his  own  affections'  counsellor,  140 

Is  to  himself — I  will  not  say  how  true — 
But  to  himself  so  secret  and  so  close, 
So  far  from  sounding  and  discovery, 
As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm. 

Ere  he  can  spread  his  sweet  leaves  to  the  air,  145 

Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  sun. 

128.     ShouW]  Does  StyxnoMX  con].  139.     other fr{en-ds\otheri  Frunds\\. 

farthest\  further  Qzm.^.  others,  friends  Knt. 

134.    fortentousl  portendous  Q^QjF,  140.     hu'\  is  Q^. 

Q  .    frotendous  Q^.  I46.     sun]     Pope,   ed.    2    (Theob). 

137.     leant'\  learn  it  R.owe,  &c.  same  QqFf.  Rowe,  Mai.  Coll.  (ed.  i). 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  Collier  says  all  the  copies,  excepting  Q^;  but  it  is  rightly  given 
humour  in  the  excellent  Q  ,  which  Collier  too  much  under\'.ilues. 

126.  sighs]  Del.  A  frequent  image  in  Sh. :  "  or  with  our  sighs  will  breathe  the 
welkin  dim."  .  Tit.  And.  Ill,  i. 

130.  heavy]  Del.  The  playing  upon  the  words  "  light "  as  a  noun,  and  "  light" 
OS  an  adjective,  is  very  common  in  Sh. 

146.  sun.]  Theobald.  WTien  we  come  to  consider  that  there  is  some  power 
«lse  besides  balmy  air  that  brings  forth  and  makes  the  tiny  buds  spread  themselves, 
I  do  not  think  it  improb.ible  that  the  poet  wrote,  '  or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  «<«,' 
or,  according  to  the  more  obsolete  spelling,  sunne,  which  brings  it  nearer  to  the 
traces  of  the  corrupted  text.     \^Sing.  Knt.  Com.  Huds.  Dyce,  Sta.  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Johnson.  I  cannot  but  suspect  that  some  lines  are  lost  which  connected  thu 
limile  more  closely  with  the  foregoing  speech ;  these  lines,  if  such  there  were,  la- 
mented the  danger  that  Romeo  will  die  of  his  melancholy  before  his  virtues  or  abili- 
ties were  known  to  the  world. 

M.  Mason.  There  is  not  a  single  passage  in  our  author  where  so  great  an  im 
provement  of  language  is  obtained  by  so  slight  a  deviation  from  the  text.    \^Sing. 


ACTi,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 9 

Could  we  but  learn  from  whence  his  sorrows  grow, 
We  would  as  willingly  give  cure  as  know. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Ben.     See,  where  he  comes :  so  please  you,  step  aside ; 
I'll  know  his  grievance,  or  be  much  denied.  15c 

148.  Enter....]  Dyce,  White,  Clarke,  Var.  at  cat.  Transferrad  by  Dyce, 
Cham.  Cambr....at  a  distance.    Capell,         White,  Clarke  to  follow  line  152. 

Knt.  We  could  scarcely  wish  to  restore  the  old  reading,  even  if  the  probability 
of  a  t)pographical  error,  same  for  sunne,  were  not  so  obvious.     \_Dyce. 

Sing.  The  lines  quoted  by  Mai.  from  Daniel  add  great  support  to  Theobald's 
emendation.     [  Corn. 

White.   One  of  Theobald's  happiest  conjectures. 

Dyce  {'Remarksy  &c.  1844,  p.  167).  Collier,  who  has  taken  the  trouble  to 
chronicle  a  great  many  wretched  conjectures,  does  not  even  mention  Theobald'* 
emendation  of  the  present  passage — an  emendation  that  has  been  adopted  by  Steev- 
ens  and  by  Knight,  and  which  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  is  the  genuine 
reading.  Both  sun  and  son  were  very  frequently  written  sunne  and  sonne,  and  hence 
were  often  mistaken  for  other  words  by  the  old  compositors :  See  Collier's  notes, 
vol.  V,  347,  vi,  555.  We  also  find  in  early  books  not  a  few  passages  in  which 
"  same"  is  a  misprint ;  so  in  Troilus  and  Cressida,  II,  ii,  where  the  right  reading  is 
undoubtedly  '•  sieve,"  the  folio  has  "same." 

Malone  retained  "  same"  in  the  present  passage  with  the  following  note  : 

"  In  the  last  Act  of  this  play  our  poet  has  evidently  imitated  the  Rosamond  o! 
Daniel ;  and  in  the  present  passage  might  have  remembered  the  following  lines  in 
one  of  the  sonnets  of  the  same  writer,  who  was  then  extremely  popular.  These 
lines,  whether  remembered  by  our  author  or  not,  add  such  support  to  Mr.  Theobald's 
emendation  that  I  should  have  given  it  a  place  in  my  text,  but  that  the  other  mode 
01  expression  was  not  uncommon  in  Sh.'s  time : 

'And  whilst  thou  spread' st  unto  the  rising  sunne. 

The  fairest  flower  that  ever  saw  the  light, 

Now  joy  thy  time,  before  thy  sweet  be  done.'     DanteVs  Sonnets,  1594. 

A  similar  phraseology  to  that  of  my  text  may  be  found  in  Daniel's  14th,  32d,  44th 
and  53d  sonnets."  But  the  reading  in  the  text  receives  no  confirmation  from  what 
Malone  calls  the  "  similar  phraseology"  of  Daniel ;  for  in  every  one  of  the  passages 
which  he  refers  to  it  is  evident  that  tlie  words,  "the  same,"  were  forced  upon  the 
poet  by  the  necessity  of  tlie  rhyme.  Besides,  Malone  ought  to  have  recollected  that 
though  Daniel  was  often  dreadfully  flat,  Sh.  never  was. 

[The  late  Mr.  Lettsom,  in  a  MS.  marginal  note  in  the  copy  of  Dyce's  "  Re- 
marks," &.C.,  in  the  present  editor's  possession,  says :  "  Dyce  himself,  in  his  2d  ed, 
of  Peele,  vol.  ii,  p.  8,  1.  I,  has  printed  same  where  the  sense  requires  sunne.""] 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Same  is  altered  to  "sun"  in  the  (MS.),  so  that  although  the  line 
does  not  read  amiss,  "  Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  same,"  meaning  "  the  air," 
mentioned  in  the  preceding  line,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  same  is  a  corruption. 
In  our  former  edition  we  preserved  same  upon  the  principle  that  it  affords  a  very 
cleai  meaning;   but  we  now  adopt  "sun"  on  the  authority  of  the  old  annotator 


20  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act.  i,  sc.  L 

Mon.     I  would  thou  wert  so  happy  by  thy  stay, 

To  hear  true  shrift. — Come,  madam,  let's  away.  {Exeunt 

Montague  and  Lady. 
Ben.     Good  morrow,  cousin. 

Ron.  Is  the  dav  so  vouncr  ? 

Bc7i.  But  new  struck  nine. 

Roj)i.  Ay  me  !  sad  hours  seem  long. 

Was  that  my  father  that  went  hence  so  fast?  155 

Bc7i.  It  was.     What  sadness  lengthens  Romeo's  hours  ? 

Rom.  Not  having  that  which,  having,  makes  them  short. 

Ben.  In  love  ? 

Rovi.  Out — 

154.     Ay'\  Capell,  Dyce,  Sta.  Cambr.  159.      Out — ]     Rowe.      Out.    QqF£ 

Ah  Rowe,  &c.  Van  et  cet.  Har.   Camp.   Coll.   Ulr.    Huds.  WTiite, 

158.     In  love  ?'\  Qj.  In  love.  The  rest.         Hal. 

The  reason  why  same  was  so  often  reprinted,  no  doubt,  was  that  until  "  sun"  is  pro- 
posed as  an  emendation,  same  hardly  seems  objectionable. 

Keightley.  The  correction  of  Theobald  is  so  obvious  and  so  natural  that  I  had 
made  it  long  before  I  was  aware  I  had  been  anticipated. 

148.  Enter  Romeo]  Dyce.  The  old  edd.  mark  his  entrance  some  lines  earlier, 
Just  as  previously,  in  the  present  scene,  they  make  Abraham  and  Balthasar,  and  also 
Benvolio,  enter  too  soon,  and  only  because  they  followed  the  prompter's  book,  which 
had  the  entrances  so  set  down  to  show  that  the  performers  were  to  be  in  readiness 
to  appear  on  the  stage.  Again,  in  Act  II,  sc.  iii,  according  to  the  old  edd.,  Romeo 
inters  while  the  Friar  has  yet  several  lines  of  his  soliloquy  to  utter.  [Vide  *  Re- 
marks^ &c.,  p.  147.] 

Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.,  vol.  ii,  p.  152,  ed.  1836),  If  we  are  right,  from  internal 
evidence,  in  pronouncing  this  one  of  Sh.'s  early  dramas,  it  affords  a  strong  instance 
of  the  fineness  of  his  insight  into  the  nature  of  the  passions  that  Romeo  is  already 
love-bewildered.  The  necessity  of  loving  creates  an  object  for  itself  in  man  and 
woman ;  and  yet  there  is  a  difference  in  this  respect  between  the  sexes,  though  only 
to  be  known  by  a  perception  of  it.  It  would  have  displeased  us  if  Juliet  had  been 
represented  as  already  in  love,  or  as  fancying  herself  so;  but  no  one,  I  believe,  ever 
experiences  any  shock  at  Romeo's  forgetting  his  Rosaline  (who  had  been  a  mere 
name  for  the  yearning  of  his  youthful  imagination)  and  rushing  into  his  passion  for 
Juliet.  Rosaline  was  a  mere  creature  of  his  fancy,  and  we  should  remark  the  boast- 
ful positiveness  of  Romeo  in  a  love  of  his  own  making,  which  is  never  shown  where 
love  is  really  near  the  heart.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

White  (vol.  i,  p.  ccxxx).  WTiat  wonderful  psychological  knowledge  has  one  of 
Sh.'s  later  critics  found  in  the  bringing  Romeo  upon  the  scene  enamoured  of  Rosa- 
line, to  have  this  passion  supplanted  by  the  purer  and  tenderer  one  for  Juliet! 
which,  on  the  contrary,  critics  of  the  last  centurj*  regarded  as  a  great  fault  in  the 
amorous  Veronese's  character.  But  the  truth,  which  these  critics  did  not  know,  is, 
that  in  this  transfer  of  affection  Sh.  merely  followed  the  novel  and  the  poem  to 
which  he  went  for  his  plot.     There  he  found  the  incident  of  Romeo's  earlier  love; 


ACT  I,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  21 

Ben.     Of  love  ?  1 60 

Rotn.     Out  of  her  favour,  where  I  am  in  love. 

Ben.     Alas,  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view. 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof! 

Rojn.     Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still. 
Should  without  eyes  see  pathways  to  his  will !  165 

Where  shall  we  dine  ?     O  me  !     What  fray  was  here  ? 

160.  love  ^1  Q  .  love.  The  rest.  will  Sta..  conj. 

165.     see...will'\  set  pathways  to  our  will'\  ill  Ha.n. 

there  he  found  the  old  nurse,  and  even  her  praise  of  Paris  to  Juliet,  and  her  under- 
rating of  Romeo  after  his  banishment,  with  her  counsel  to  the  second  marriage,  all 
of  which  have  been  lauded  as  exquisite  and  subtly-drawn  traits  of  nature,  which 
again  they  are,  and  Sh.  could  doubtless  have  invented  them ;  but  the  truth  is,  that 
he  found  them. 

[See  Scott's  "  Waverley,"  chap,  liv.]  Ed. 

161.  I  am  in  love]  Sta.  In  the  old  poem  the  hero  is  first  introduced  to  us,  as 
!n  the  play,  the  victim  to  an  unrequited  passion.     Romeus,  we  are  told : 

"  Hath  founde  a  mayde  so  fayre  (he  founde  so  foule  his  happe). 
Whose  beauty,  shape,  and  comely  grace,  did  so  his  heart  entrappe, 
That  from  his  owne  affayres,  his  thought  she  did  remove ; 
Onely  he  sought  to  honor  her,  to  serve  her  and  to  love. 
To  her  he  writeth  oft,  oft  messengers  are  sent, 
At  length  (in  hope  of  better  spede)  himselfe  the  lover  went ; 
Present  to  pleade  for  grace,  which  absent  was  not  founde ; 
And  to  discover  to  her  eye  his  new  receaved  wounde. 
But  she  that  from  her  youth  was  fostred  evermore 
With  vertues  foode,  and  taught  in  schole  of  wisdomes  skilfuU  lore  : 
By  aunswere  did  cutte  of  thatfections  of  his  love. 
That  he  no  more  occasion  had  so  vayne  a  sute  to  move 
So  Sterne  she  was  of  chere,  (for  all  the  payne  he  tooke) 
That,  in  reward  of  toyle,  she  would  not  geve  a  frendly  looke." 

165.  pathv^ays]  Steev.  Romeo  laments  that  love,  though  blind,  should  discovei 
pathways  to  his  will,  and  yet  cannot  avail  himself  of  them ;  should  perceive  tlie 
road  which  he  is  forbidden  to  take.     [^Jlal. 

Mal.  Benvolio  has  lamented  that  the  ^od  of  love,  who  appears  so  gentle,  should 
be  a  tyrant.  It  is  no  less  to  be  lamented,  adds  Romeo,  that  the  blind  god  should 
yet  be  able  to  direct  his  arrows  at  those  whom  he  wishes  to  hit, — that  he  should 
wound  whomever  he  wills  or  desires  to  wound.     \_Hal. 

Sing.  That  is,  should  blindly  and  recklessly  think  he  can  surmount  all  obstacles 
to  his  will.     \_Huds. 

Ulr.  Romeo  wishes  to  say,  "  O  that  Love,  in  spite  of  his  veiled  countenance  (in 
spite  of  the  bandages  over  his  eyes),  yet  without  eyes  should  find  side-paths  (all 
kinds  of  fine  means)  to  accomplish  his  will !  i.  e.  that  Love  steals  over  us  and  hold* 
us  fast,  however  much  we  would  gladly  escape  or  be  free." 

Sta.  Qj  may  help  us  to  the  true  reading,  which  very  probably  was  "set  path- 
ways to  owr  will;"  in  other  words,  "make  us  walk  in  any  direction  he  chooses  to 
appoint." 

Clarke.   This  sentence  comprises  double  meaning,  and  signifies  not  only  "Alas, 


2  2  liOMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i.  sc.  i. 

Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I  have  heard  it  all. 

Here's  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with  love : 

Why,  then,  O  brawling  love !     O  loving  hate  I 

O  any  thing,  of  nothing  first  created !  170 

O  hea\'y  lightness  !  serious  vanity  ! 

Mis-shapen  chaos  of  well-seeming  forms ! 

170.     createcf\    create    (QJ    F^F^F^,  172.     •weU-seetning\    wehteing    Q,Q, 

Rowe,  &c.,  Var.  Huds.   Dyce  (ed.  l),         F,. 
Clarke,  Cainbr.  Ktly.  Hal. 

that  the  blind  god  should  be  able  to  shoot  so  surely !"  but  also  "Alas,  that  love,  not- 
withstanding its  muffled  sight,  should  be  able,  blindfold,  to  find  its  way  to  its  object !" 
Romeo  deplores  his  being  able  to  see  clearly  that  he  loves  Rosaline,  while  seeing 
equally  clearly  that  he  cannot  obtain  her  favour  in  return. 

168.  Here's  much]  Clarke.  Romeo  is  speaking  in  the  riddling  mood  now 
upon  him.  He  means  that  the  fray  has  much  to  do  with  the  hate  between  the  riva) 
houses,  yet  affects  him  more,  inasmuch  as  his  Rosaline  is  of  the  Capulet  family ;  that 
what  has  just  passed  has  had  reference  to  the  animosity  which  divides  the  two  fac- 
tions, and  has  also  shown  him  the  anxious  affection  felt  on  his  account  by  his  father 
and  Benvolio.  To  the  latter  he  refers  where  he  says,  "  This  love  that  thou  hast 
shown,"  &c. 

169.  O  brawling  love]  Farmer.  Every  sonneteer  characterized  Love  by  con- 
rrarieties.     Watson  begins  one  of  his  canzonets : 

"  Love  is  a  sowre  delight,  a  sugred  griefe, 
A  living  death,  an  ever-dying  life,"  &c 

Turberville  makes  Reason  harangue  against  it  in  the  same  manner : 

"A  iierie  frost,  a  flame  that  frozen  is  with  ise, 
A  heavie  burden  light  to  beare  I    A  vertue  fraughte  with  vice  I"  &C. 

Immediately  from  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose : 

"Ltnu  it  is  an  hatefiil  pees, 
A  free  aquitaunce  without  reles, — 
An  keauU  burthen  light  to  beare,"  &C. 

This  kind  of  antithesis  was  very  much  to  the  taste  of  the  Provengal  and   Italian 

poets ;  perhaps  it  might  be  hinted  by  the  Ode  of  Sappho  preserved  by  Longinus. 

Petrarch  is  full  of  it : 

"  Pace  non  trovo  e  non  ho  da  fer  guerra  ; 
E  temo,  e  spero,  e  ardo,  e  son  un  ghiaccio  ; 
E  volo  sopra'l  ciel,  e  giaccio  in  terra ; 
E  nulla  stringo,  e  tutto'l  mondo  abbraccio,"  &c.    Sonnet  105  (104?). 

Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  translates  this  sonnet  under  the  title  of  "Description  of  the  Con 
Irarious  Passions  in  a  Louer"  1574.      [Sing.  Ktit.   Verp.  Huds. 

Hf  Ds.  Such  an  affected  way  of  speaking  not  unaptly  shows  the  state  of  Romec'i 
mind ;  his  love  is  rather  self-generated  than  inspired  by  any  object.  As  compared 
with  his  style  of  speech  after  meeting  with  Juliet,  it  serves  to  mark  the  difference 
between  being  love-sick  and  being  in  love. 

Clarke.  This  is  one  of  the  subtle  indications  given  by  Sh.  that  Romeo  is  not 
••eally  in  love  with  Rosaline. 

170.  created]  Knt.  [create^  introduces  improperly  a  couplet  amidst  the  blank 
Terse, 


ACTi.  S-.  i.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  23 

Feather  of  lead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fire,  sick  health ! 
Still-waking  sleep,  that  is  not  what  it  is ! 

This  love  feel  I,  that  feel  no  love  in  this.  175 

Dost  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Ben.  No,  coz,  I  rather  weep. 

Rom.     Good  heart,  at  what  ? 

Bc7i..  At  thy  good  heart's  oppression. 

Rom.     Why,  such  is  love's  transgression. 
Griefs  of  mine  own  lie  heavy  in  my  breast ; 

Which  thou  wilt  propagate,  to  have  it  prest  1 80 

With  more  of  thine :  this  love  that  thou  hast  shown 
Doth  add  more  grief  to  too  much  of  mine  own. 
Love  is  a  smoke  raised  with  the  fume  of  sighs ; 
Being  purged,  a  fire  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes ; 

173.     sick  health^  sicknes,  helth  Eng.  'too  Allen  (MS.)  conj. 

Par.  *  183.     raised'l  rais'd  Pope,  from  (Q,), 

178.      Why,  suck  is']    Why  such   is,  made  QqFf,  Rowe,  Capell,  Knt.  Coll. 

merely,  Seymour  conj.     Why  such,  Ben-  Ulr.  Del.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 

w/w,  M  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS).    Why,  such,  184.    purged]   urg'd  Sing.  (ed.   I), 

Benvolio,  such  is  Mommsen  conj.    Why,  (Johns,  conj).  puff'd  Ulr.  Coll.  (ed,  2) 

gentle  cousin,  such  is  Ktly.  (MS.) 

180.     it\  them  (QJ  Pope,  &c.  lovers']  a  lover's  Haz. 

182.     too  much]  to  too-much  Del.   to 

178.  love's  transgression]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  line  in  QqFf  is  four  syllables 
short  of  the  measure  required  by  the  corresponding  lines  above.  We  have,  there- 
fore, not  the  slightest  hesitation  in  inserting  "  Benvolio"  as  we  find  it  in  the  (MS.), 
and  as  we  may  be  almost  sure  it  was  originally  written. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  [Printing  177  and  178  as  three  lines].  Since  printing  the  text  of 
this  play,  I  almost  regret  that  I  did  not  retain  the  usual  arrangement.  The  passage, 
however,  may  be  right  as  it  stands,  for  our  early  dramatists  sometimes  introduce 
short  rhyming  lines  in  the  midst  of  blank-verse  dialogues,  as  in  Love's  Labour's  Lost, 
I,  i,  126,  127. 

Ktly.  I  make  this  insertion,  "  gentle  cousin,"  with  confidence,  for  this  is  the  only 
speech  in  this  play  beginning  with  a  short  line  not  complementary  to  the  end  of  a 
preceding  speech.  In  our  poet's  plays  of  this  period,  speeches  never  began  with  a 
short  line,  unless  when  complementary,  and  at  no  time  was  the  second  line  of  a 
couplet  short.  Lower  down  (L  v,  63),  we  have  "  Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  him 
alone,"  where  Q,  omits  all  but  "  let  him  alone." 

182.  too  much]  Del.   This  is  to  be  taken  substantively  as  a  compound  word. 

184.  Being  purged]  Johnson.  Sh.  may  mean  being  purged  of  smoke,  which  is, 
perhaps,  a  meaning  never  given  to  the  word  in  any  other  place.  I  would  rather 
read,  "  Being  tirg'd" — being  excited  and  enforced.  To  urge  the  fire  is  a  technical 
term.     \_Sing.  (ed.  l),  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Reed.  Dr  Akenside,  in  his  Hymn  to  Cheerfulness,  has  the  same  expreiKicni 
"  Haste,  light  the  tapers,  urge  the  fire."     {^Sing. 


24  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i.  sc.  i. 

IJcing  vex'd,  a  sea  nourish'd  with  lovers'  tears :  185 

What  is  it  else  ?  a  madness  most  discreet, 

A  choking  gall  and  a  preserving  sweet. 

Farewell,  my  coz.  \Going 

Ben.  Soft !  I  will  go  along : 

An  if  you  leave  me  so,  you  do  me  wrong. 

Rom.     Tut,  I  have  lost  myself;  I  am  not  here;  190 

This  is  not  Romeo,  he's  some  other  where. 

185.     l<n>ers''\  loz'trs  (Q,)  Pope,    lov-  i88.     {^Going]    Rowe.     om.    QqFf, 

ing  QqFf,  Rowe,  Capell,  Knt.  Sta.  Dyce,  Cambr. 

After  this    Ktly.   marks   a  line  /  -u)ill'\  I'll  Pope,  &c. 

omitted.  189.     An']  Han.    And  QqFf,  Rowe, 

1S6.     discreet']  distrest  Eng.  Par.*  Pope,  Theob.  Johns.  Verp.  Haz. 

187.  preserving]  persevering  Haz.  190.      Tut]  But  F  F^,  Rowe,  Pope, 

188.  coz]  cousin  Pope,  &c.  Han. 

Steev.   Again,  in  Chapman's  version  of  the  21st  Iliad: 

"And  as  a  caldron,  under  put  with  store  of  fire — 
Bavins  of  sere  wood  urging  it,"  &c  [Sing. 

Del.  Purg'd  must  be  taken  in  connection  with  the  preceding :  when  Love  has 
been  purified  from  the  fume  of  sighs  [see  1.  126]  it  becomes  a  fire,  &c.  Thus  un- 
derstood, Johnson's  emendation  is  unnecessary. 

HuDS.  Johnson's  change  is  a  good  one,  if  any  were  needed.  Of  course  purg'a 
is  purified. 

Coll.  [Notes  and  Emend,  p.  382].  Everybody  is  aware  how  a  fire  sometimes 
sparkles  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  blow  it  with  their  breath :  the  smoke  is  first 
"  made"  by  the  gentle  "  fume  of  sighs,"  and  then  caused  to  sparkle  by  being  vio- 
lently/r/^tv/  by  the  lover's  breath. 

Sta.  pronounces  Johnson's  suggestion  "one  not  without  reason,"  and  Collier's 
(MS.)  as  equally  plausible. 

White.  Surely  the  correctors  must  have  failed  to  see  the  allusion  to  the  passage 
in  the  Gospels  (Matt,  iii,  12),  "whose  fan  is  in  his  hand,  and  he  will  thoroughly 
purge  his  floor."  Sh.  remembered  the  "  fan,"  and  thought  of  the  winnowing  that 
he  had  seen  at  Stratford,  where  we  may  be  sure  they  were  yet  guiltless  of  the  ma- 
chine so  sacrilegious  in  the  eyes  of  Mause  Headrigg,  for  raising  wind  for  their  aiu 
particular  use  by  human  art,  instead  of  soliciting  it  by  prayer,  or  waiting  patiently 
for  a  dispensation  of  wind.  And  doubtless  he  did  not  put  his  less  than  small  Greek 
to  the  task  of  teaching  him  that  "^iaKa6atpe(,''  which  is  translated  "  purge,"  refers  to 
the  separation  of  purity  from  impurity,  or  that  which  is  worthless  from  that  which 
has  worth,  by  whatever  process. 

185.  Being  vex'd]  Johnson.  As  this  line  stands  single,  it  is  likely  that  the  fort- 
going,  or  following  line,  that  rhjTned  to  it  is  lost.     [A?/)'. 

187.  preserving]  Ulr.  Sh.,  in  his  careless  diction,  ever  delighting  in  popular 
phrases,  continually  used  the  active  and  passive  participles,  eac.  for  the  other,  as 
can  be  shown  by  many  passages.  He  here  intentionally  uses  "preserving"  in  the 
place  of  "  preserved,"  merely  for  the  sake  of  a  play  upon  words,  and  to  bring  (lut  the 
contrast  with  "  choking  gall."  Love  may  be  compared  to  a  preserved  sweet  be- 
cause, although  again  ;t  our  will,  it  is  kept  and  cherished. 


ACT  I,  SC.  i.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


25 


Ben.     Tell  me  in  sadness,  who  is  that  you  love. 

Rom.     What,  shall  I  groan  and  tell  thee? 

Ben.  Groan  !  why,  no ; 

But  sadly  tell  me  who. 

Rom.     Bid  a  sick  man  in  sadness  make  his  will :  195 

Ah,  word  ill  urged  to  one  that  is  so  ill ! 
In  sadness,  cousin,  I  do  love  a  woman. 

Ben.     I  aim'd  so  near  wnen  I  supposed  you  loved. 

Rom.     A  right  good  mark-man !     And  she's  fair  I  love. 

Ben.     A  right  fair  mark,  fair  coz,  is  soonest  hit.  200 

Rom.     Well,  in  that  hit  you  miss  :  she'll  not  be  hit 
With  Cupid's  arrow ;  she  hath  Dian's  wit. 
And,  in  strong  proof  of  chastity  well  arm'd. 


192.  who  is  that\  who  she  is  Pope, 
&c.  Har.  Camp.  Corn.  Haz.  Ktly.  whom 
the  is  (Q,)  Bos.  Sing.  (ed.  i).  who  ^tis 
that  Sing.  (ed.  2). 

193.  194.  Groan. ..who'\  As  in  Han. 
One  line  in  QqFf,  Sing.  (ed.  2). 

194.  But.. ..who']  But  pry'thee  tell 
me  sadly  who  she  is  Seymour  conj.  But 
sadly  tell  me,  truly  tell  me  who  or  But 
sadly  tell  me,  gentle  cousin,  who  Taylor 
conj.  MS.*  But...who  she  is  you  love 
Ktly. 


195.  Bid. ...make]  A  sicke  man  in 
sadnesse  makes  Q^QjF^,  Ulr.  A  sicke 
man  in  good  sadnesse  makes  F^F  F  , 
Rowe. 

196.  Ah,  word]  (QJ  Mai.    A  word 
QqF,,  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Sta.  White, 
Hal.    O,  word  F^FjF^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca 
pell. 

199.  mark-man]  marks-man  F  F, 
Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Huds. 

201.  JVell]  QqFf.  But  (QJ  Pope, 
&c. 


192.  Tell  me  in  sadness]  Johnson.  That  is,  tell  me  ^az»^/j',  tell  ra&'in  serioui 
ness.     \^Sing.  Valp.  Haz.  Huds.  White. 

192.  who  is  that]  Sing.  (ed.  2).   The  t  has  evidently  been  omitted  by  accident. 

194.  tell  me  who]  Ktly.  The  words  "  she  is  you  love"  seem  evidently  to  have 
been  lost ;  and  the  repetition  is  very  agreeable.  Moreover,  in  this  play  speeches  do 
not  thus  end  with  a  short  line. 

195.  make  his  will]  Ulr.  The  sense  is :  A  sick  man,  of  his  own  accord,  makes 
his  last  will  in  seriousness  (he  need  not  be  bidden  to  do  it  "in  seriousness"),  and 
hence  the  word,  in  the  mere  sense  of  "  seriousness,"  is  ill  used  to  one  who  is  in  so 
sad  a  state  as  I  am.  I  cannot  accept  the  reading  of  (QJ,  as  the  following  line  ap- 
pears to  fit  it  less,  or  rather  the  sense  of  the  whole  passage  comes  out  far  more 
tlearly  in  the  reading  of  the  other  editions. 

203.  strong  proof]  Steev.  As  this  play  was  written  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  I  cannot  help  regarding  these  speeches  of  Romeo  as  an  oblique  compli- 
ment to  her  majesty,  who  was  not  liable  to  be  displeased  at  hearing  her  chastity 
praised  after  she  was  suspected  to  have  lost  it,  or  her  beauty  commended  in  the  67th 
year  of  her  age,  though  she  never  possessed  any  when  she  was  young.  Her  decla- 
ration that  she  would  continue  unmarr'ed  increases  the  probability  of  the  present 
supposition.  \^Har.  Sing. 
3 


ar  ROMEO   AND   JUUET.  [act.  I,  sc.  i 

From  love's  weak  childish  bow  she  lives  unharm'd. 

She  will  not  stay  the  siege  of  loving  terms,  205 

Nor  bide  the  encounter  of  assailing  eyes, 

Nor  ope  her  lap  to  saint-seducing  gold : 

O,  she  is  rich  in  beauty,  only  poor 

That,  when  she  dies,  with  beaut)-  dies  her  store. 

Ben.     Then  she  hath  sworn  that  she  will  still  live  chaste?    2IC 

204.     unhaivi' d'\    (QJ    Pope,     un-  209.     she'\  om.  Q^. 

charm'd  QqFf,  Rowe.    encharm'd  Coll.  with....store'\       with      her     diet 

(e.l.  2)  (MS.),  Ulr.  Huds.  B^auf/s  Store  Theob.  &c.  (Johns.)  Ca- 

206.  bide]  bid  F,F,.  pell,  Dyce  (ed.  2).    with  her  dies  beauty 

207.  ope]  open  F,.  store  Ktly. 

204.  unharm'd]  Coll.  ['Notes  and  Emend.'')  The  alteration  required  by  the 
(MS.)  is  only  of  a  single  letter,  and  by  it  a  much  more  poetical  turn  is  given  to  the 
thought :  She  was  magically  encharmed  from  love's  bow  by  chastity.  Nobody  will 
deny  that  "unharm'd"  (changed  by  Rowe  from  "uncharm'd"  of  Q,)  is  compara- 
tively flat,  poor  and  insignificant.  This  emendation  cannot  be  doubted,  since  it  ac- 
cords almost  exactly  with  the  old  copies,  and  obviously  gives  the  sense  of  the  author 

Ulr.  Without  doubt  encharrri'd  is  the  right  word,  and,  as  it  is  also  the  more  un- 
usual word,  was  probably  changed  by  the  printer  into  uncharnCd. 

White  {'Sh.^s  Scholar').  Rowe  changed  uncharm'd  to  unharm'd.  Collier's  "  en- 
charm'd"  is  much  nearer  the  original  text,  and  much  better  in  every  way.  It  will 
hereafter  take  a  place  in  the  text  without  a  question. 

Both  Ulr.  and  Del.  note  that  unharm'd  is  the  reading  of  (Q,). 

HuDS.  The  reading  of  (Q,)  and  F^ — uncharmed — gives  a  sense  just  the  opposite 
of  that  required. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  A  writer  in  Blackwood's  Maga.,  Oct.  1853,  p.  454,  thinks  un- 
charm'd of  Qq  and  Ff  may  mean  "disenchanted  from  the  power  of  love,"  &c.  1 
cannot  agree  with  him.  Grant  White  would  not,  I  apprehend,  have  said  [as  above] 
if  he  had  recollected  that  "unharm'd"  is  the  reading  of  Q,,  and  not,  as  he.  Collier, 
and  some  others  state,  the  conjectural  alteration  of  Rowe. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  [Repeats  substantially  the  above  from  his  'Notes  and  Emend.,' 
and  that  Rowe  altered  uncharm'd  to  unharmed.] 

White.  (Q,)  has  " '  Gainst  Cupid's  childish  bow  she  lives  unharm'd,"  which  seems 
a  corrupt,  or,  at  least,  a  much  inferior,  reading.  The  repetition  of  "  Cupid"  (avoided 
in  the  later  text)  Is  unpleasant ;  and  the  use  of  "  unharm'd"  with  "  against"  is  infe- 
licitous if  not  incorrect.  If  we  read  "  'gainst"  with  (Q,),  we  might  do  well  to  read 
"she  lives  encharm'd,"  with  Collier's  (MS). 

DvcF.  (ed.  2).  Lettsom  has  suggested  this  same  reading  proposed  by  WTiite. 

209.  with  beauty  dies]  Johnson.  She  is  rich,  says  Romeo,  in  beauty,  and  -.nly 
poor'm  being  subject  to  the  lot  of  humanity,  that  her  store,  or  riches,  can  be  destroyed 
ly  death,  who  shall,  by  the  same  blow,  put  an  end  to  beauty.     \_Hal. 

Steev.  Theobald's  alteration  may  be  countenanced  by  the  following  passage  in 
Swetnam  Arraign'd,  a  comedy,  1620: 

"  Nature  now  shall  boast  no  more  of  the  riches  of  her  store  : 
Since,  in  this  her  chiefest  prixe.  all  the  atock  of  beauty  diet." 


ACT  I,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  27 

Rom.     She  hath,  and  in  that  sparing  makes  huge  waste ; 
For  beauty,  starved  with  her  severity, 
Cuts  beauty  off  from  all  posterity. 

211.  makes\  make  ()^fl^ ^.  212.     starved'\    started    F^.      steti/d 

The  rest,  Sing,  (ed  2). 

Again,  in  Sh.'s  14th  Sonnet:  "  Thy  end  is  truth's  and  beauty's  doom  and  date." 
Vgain,  in  Massinger's  Virgin-Martyr : 

"  — —  with  her  dies 
The  abstract  of  all  sweetness  that's  in  womaa"     \,Ha*. 

Mason.  Romeo  means  to  say  that  she  is  poor  because  she  leaves  no  part  of  hei 
store  behind  her,  as  with  her  all  beauty  will  die.     \^Sing.  (ed.  i),  Huds.  Hal. 

Mal.  She  is  rich  in  beauty;  and  poor,  in  this  circumstance  alone,  that  with  her 
beauty  will  expire.  Her  store  of  wealth,  which  the  poet  has  already  said  was  the 
fairness  of  her  person,  will  not  be  transmitted  to  posterity,  inasmuch  as  she  will 
"  lead  her  graces  to  the  grave  and  leave  the  world  no  copy."     \_Hal. 

Mal.  also  cites  Sh.'s  3d  Sonnet  and  Venus  and  Adonis,  757,  759.     \_Com. 

Sta.  The  meaning  of  this  somewhat  complex  passage  seems  to  be :  She  is  rich 
in  the  possession  of  unequalled  beauty,  but  poor,  because  having  devoted  herself  to 
chastity,  when  she  dies  her  wealth,  that  is  beauty,  dies  with  lier.  The  same  conceit 
occurs  repeatedly  in  Sh.'s  poems : 

"  From  fairest  creatures  we  desire  increase, 
That  thereby  beauty's  rose  ml^kt  rtever  dU."    [Sanftei  t. 

"  Then  how,  when  Nature  calls  thee  to  be  gone, 
What  acceptable  ftudit  canst  thou  leave? 
TAy  unus'd  beauty  mtist  be  tomFd  with  thee. 
Which,  used,  lives  thy  executor  to  be."    [Sonnet  4. 

See  also  Sonnets  2,  3,  5,  6,  10,  II,  12,  13,  and  14. 

White.  Romeo  means  to  say  that  his  mistress  is  only  poor  in  that,  at  her  death, 
her  store — i.  e.  the  beauty  that  she  is  rich  in — will  die  with  her,  and  that  so  her 
chief  wealth  is  a  possession  that  she  cannot  bequeath. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  "  The  sense  required,  as  is  clear  from  Benvolio's  rejoinder,  and 
even  from  Malone's  note,  in  which  he  defends  the  old  reading,  is  that  her  beauty 
dies  with  Aer;  but  this  sense  cannot  be  squeezed  out  of  the  old  text;  therefore 
Theobald's  conjecture  is  necessary."     Lettsom. 

Keightley.  The  plain  meaning  of  this  is  that  beauty  was  "  her  store ;"  she  had 
nothing  but  it ;  poor  praise  indeed  from  a  lover.  I  would  read  with  Theobald.  .  .  . 
The  same  idea  is  expressed  in  the  poet's  first  and  following  Sonnets :  in  Venus  and 
Adonis  we  have,  "  For  he  being  dead,  with  him  is  beauty  slain."  See  also  Twelfth 
Night,  I,  v. 

212.  starved]  Sing.  (ed.  2).  All  the  old  copies  have  sten/d,  which  has  been 
here  and  elsewhere  changed  to  starved  without  reason.  The  poet  has  shown  that 
he  wrote  sterve  by  making  it  rhyme  to  deserve  in  Cor.  II,  iii ;  and  the  confined  mean- 
ing of  starve  in  its  modem  acceptation  renders  the  preservation  of  the  archaic  form 
desirable  if  not  necessary.     The  word  occurs  in  the  poem  of  Romeus  and  Juliet: 

"  Choose  out  some  worthy  dame,  her  honor  thou  and  serve. 
Who  will  geve  ear  to  thy  complaint,  and  pitty  ere  thou  sterve.' 

The  meaning  of  this  passage  is  evidently,  "  Through  her  severity  beauty  will  b« 
perished,  die  out." 


28  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  l 

She  is  too  fair,  too  wise,  wisely  too  fair. 

To  merit  bliss  by  making  me  despair:  21 5 

She  hath  forsworn  to  love ;  and  in  that  vow 

Do  I  live  dead,  that  live  to  tell  it  now. 

Beti.     Be  ruled  by  me,  forget  to  think  of  her. 

Ro>n.     O,  teach  me  how  I  should  forget  to  think. 

Ben.     By  giving  liberty  unto  thine  eyes ;  220 

Examine  other  beauties. 

Ro)n.  'Tis  the  way 

To  call  hers,  exquisite,  in  question  more : 

214.     ■wise,  wisely  too\   wisf.vi:  sely  221,222.     ^  Tis...more\   As  in   Pope, 

too  F,.    wise  wisely  too  F,.    wise ;   too        One  line  in  QqFf. 
wisely  Han.  Johns.  222.     hers,'\    her's,   Corn.  Coll.   Ulr. 

220.     Ben.]  Ro.  Q^Q^.  Hal.    kef's  White,    hers  Johns.  Ktly. 

in  question]  to  question  Ktly. 

Sta.  continues  the  above  quotation  from  Romeus  and  Juliet : 

"  Bat  sow  no  more  thy  paynes  in  such  a  barrayne  soyle  : 
As  yeldes  in  harvest  time  no  crop,  in  recompence  of  toyle. 
Ere  long  the  townishe  dames  together  will  resort : 
Some  one  of  bewty,  favour,  shape,  and  of  so  lovely  porte, 
With  so  fast  fixed  eye,  perhaps  thou  rr.ayst  beholde  ; 
That  thou  shalt  quite  forget  thy  love,  and  passions  past  of  olde." 

214.  wisely  too  fair]  Mal.  There  is  in  her  too  much  sanctimonious  wisdom 
united  with  beauty,  which  induces  her  to  continue  chiste  with  the  hopes  of  attaining 
heavenly  bliss.     \^IIaz.  (substantially). 

214,  215.  wisely  .  .  .  despair]  Ulr.   Schlegel,  I  think,  translates  it  incorrectly. 

SCHLEGEL. 

Sie  ist  ru  schon  iind  weis',  um  Heil  zu  erben, 

Weil  sie,  mit  Weisheit  schon,  mich  zwingt  zu  sterDeu. 

Del.  The  excess  of  her  beauty  does  not  accord  with  the  excess  of  her  wisdom , 
she  ought  not  to  try  to  win  heavenly  bliss  while  burdening  herself  with  sin  by  plung- 
ing Romeo  into  despair. 

222.  To  call  hers,  exquisite]  Heath.  That  is,  to  call  hers,  which  is  exquisite, 
the  more  into  my  remembrance  and  contemplation.  It  is  in  this  sense,  and  not  in 
that  of  doubt  or  dispute,  that  the  word  question  is  here  used.     [Hal. 

Mal.  More  into  talk :  to  make  her  unparalleled  beauty  more  the  subject  of 
thought  and  conversation.  Question  means  conversation.  So  in  the  Rape  of  Lu 
crece  :  "And  after  supper  long  he  questioned  With  modest  Lucrece."  And  in  many 
passages  in  our  author's  plays.     [^Sing.  and  Huds.  subs.     Hal. 

Sta.  This  is  generally  conceived  to  refer  to  the  beauty  of  Rosaline.  It  may 
mean,  however,  "  that  is  only  the  way  to  throw  doubt  upon  any  other  beauty  I 
may  see,"  an  interpretation  countenanced  by  the  after  lines,  227,  229. 

Ktly.  This  is  not  v:ry  intelligible.  We  might  read  'her  exquisite,'  or  rathei 
to  question.'  To  "call  in  question,"  in  Sh,  always  means,  to  express  a  doubt  o£ 
Qnrttion'  is  examine,  a  word  just  used. 


ACT  I,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  29 

These  happy  masks,  that  kiss  fair  ladies'  browj, 

Being  black  put  us  in  mind  they  hide  the  fair ; 

He  that  is  strucken  blind  cannot  forget  225 

The  precious  treasure  of  his  eyesight  lost : 

Show  me  a  mistress  that  is  passing  fair, 

223.  Tkese\  Those  Y^^,  Rowe,  &c.  rest,    stricken  Coll.  Ulr.  Huds.  White, 

224.  put]  puts  Q^QjQ/.F,.  Hal. 

225.  strucken]  Q^F^F^.  strooken  The 

223.  These  happy  masks]  Steev.  /.  e.,  the  masks  worn  by  female  spectators 
of  the  play.     \_Sing.  (ed.  l),  "probably,  unless"  Malone  be  right.     Huds. 

Mal.  These  happy  masks,  I  believe,  means  no  more  than  the  happy  masks.  Such 
is  Tyrwhitt's  opinion. 

Knt.  It  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  limit  the  use  of  masks  to  the  female  specta- 
tors of  the  play.  In  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  we  have  the  "  sun-expelling 
mask."  In  Love's  Labour's  Lost  the  ladies  wear  masks  in  the  first  interview  between 
the  king  and  the  princess :  "  Now  fair  befall  your  mask,"  says  Biron  to  Rosaline. 

Del.  Such  masks  as  the  ladies  of  Sh.'s  time  were  wont  to  wear  when  they  went 
out  in  the  street. 

Dyce  (ed.  2)  [in  a  note  on  Mea.  for  Mea.  II,  iv,  79].  As  to  "these  black 
masks"  Tyrwhitt,  in  his  earlier  days,  conjectured  that  Sh.  alluded  to  "the  masks  of 
the  audience  when  the  play  was  acted  at  court ;"  but  he  afterwards  repudiated  that 
most  extravagant  conjecture.  "  My  notion  at  present,"  he  says,  "  is  that  the  phrase, 
these  black  masks,  signifies  nothing  more  than  black  masks,  according  to  an  old  idiom 
of  our  language,  by  which  the  demonstrative  pronoun  is  put  for  the  prepositive  a«ti 
cle."  So  we  have  in  the  present  play  [Mea.  for  Mea.],  IV,  i,  59:  "volumes  of 
report  Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests."  And  compare  Webster, 
The  Duchess  of  Malfi,  V,  ii : 

"  We  that  are  great  women  of  pleasure  use  to  cut  off 
These  uncertain  wishes  and  unquiet  longings 
And  in  an  instant  join  the  sweet  delight 
And  the  pretty  excuse  together." 

(I  cannot  but  feel  surprised  that  Tyrwhitt's  discarded  conjecture,  about  these  masM 
meaning  the  masks  of  the  audience,  should  have  been  brought  forward  by  Halliwell 
as  a  probable  one,  and  that  he  should  conceive  it  to  be  supported  by  a  passage  (to 
which  he  only  refers)  at  the  conclusion  of  Fletcher's  Beggar's  Bush,  where  Higgen, 
speaking  the  epilogue,  says  to  the  "  ladies,"  "  If  you  be  pleas'd,  look  cheerly,  throw 
yotir  eyes  Out  at  your  masks.") 

Clarke.  The  masks  usually  worn,  and  happy  in  being  privileged  to  touch  the 
sweet  countenances  beneath.  "  These"  is  here  used  to  instance  a  general  obser- 
vation. 

224.  Being  black  put  us]  White.  The  old  copies,  "puts  us  in  mind,"  and,  I 
have  little  doubt,  correctly ;  for,  aside  from  other  reasons  for  reading  "pits"  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  Sh.  and  his  contemporaries  regarded  "  being  black"  and  not 
"  masks"  as  the  nominative  to  "  put."  I  do  not,  however,  feel  sufficiently  ass"red 
of  the  point  to  change  the  received  text. 

'Lr'\:,D  Qkyiv^ELL  {'Sh.^s  Legal  Acquirements^).   This  first  scene  maybe  studied 
3« 


30  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  l  sc.  iu 

What  doth  her  beauty  serve  but  as  a  note 
Where  I  may  read  who  pass'd  that  passing  fair  ? 
Farewell :  thou  canst  not  teach  me  to  forget.  230 

Be7i.     I'll  pay  that  doctrine,  or  else  die  in  debt.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     A  street. 

Enter  Capulet,  Paris,  and  Servant. 

Cap.     But  Montague  is  bound  as  well  as  I, 
In  penalty  alike ;  and  'tis  not  hard,  I  think, 
For  men  so  old  as  we  to  keep  the  peace. 

Par.     Of  honourable  reckoning  are  you  both ; 
And  pity  'tis  you  lived  at  odds  so  long.  5 

But  now,  my  lord,  what  say  you  to  my  suit  ? 

Cap.     But  saying  o'er  what  I  have  said  before : 
My  child  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world ; 
She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  fourteen  years : 

228.  V\nint\  How  Seymour  conj.  I.     But\  Q^.  om.  Q^Ff,  Rowe.   And 
but  as\  for,  but  Seymour  conj.             Q4Q5'  P^pe,  &c.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Dei 

229.  fair?'\   Pope,    faire.   or  fair.         Sing.  Ktly. 

^qFf.    fair:  Com.  I,  2.     But. ..I,  In-.-alikel  Montague'i 

Scene  n.]  Capell.     Scene  hi.  Pope,  ..../,  alike  In  penalty  S.  Walker  conj. 

Han.  Warb.  om.  Rowe,  Theob.  2.     I  think,']  om.  Pope,  &c.  (Johns.) 

A  street.]  Capell.  3.     as  we']    om.    Taylor   conj.    MS., 

Enter....]     Rowe.      Enter    Capulet,  rta-img  I  think. ..peace,  as  on^WnG.* 

Countie  Paris,  and  the  Clowne.  QqFf. 

by  a  student  of  the  Inns  of  Court  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  law  of  "assault 
and  batterj',"  and  what  will  amount  to  di  justification.  Although  Sampson  exclaims, 
"  My  naked  weapon  is  out :  quarrel,  I  will  back  thee,"  he  adds,  "  Let  us  take  the 
law  of  our  sides ;  let  them  begin."  Then  we  leam  that  ne.\\her  frowning,  nor  biting 
the  thumb,  nor  answering  to  a  question,  "  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir?"  "  I 
do  bite  my  thumb,  sir,"  would  be  enough  to  support  the  plea  of  se  defendendo.  The 
scene  ends  with  old  Montague  and  old  Capulet  being  bound  over,  in  the  English 
fashion,  to  keep  the  peace,  in  the  same  manner  as  two  Warwickshire  clowns,  who  had 
been  fighting,  might  have  been  dealt  with  at  Charlecote  before  Sir  Thomas  Lucy. 

Enter  Servant]  Sta.  By  clown  of  the  old  copies  was  meant  the  merryman , 
and  a  character  of  this  description  was  so  general  in  the  plays  of  Sh.'s  early  period 
that  his  title  here  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  retained. 

9.  fourteen  years]  White  (Introd.  p.  34).  In  Brooke's  poem  Capulet  says, 
"Scarse  saw  she  yet  full  xti  yeres."  This  is  the  reading  of  the  ed.  1562,  accord- 
'jig  to  Collier's  reprint.     It  is  possible  that  in  ore  of  the  two  other  edd.,  1582  and 


ACTi.  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  3 1 

Let  two  more  summers  wither  in  their  pride  lO 

Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  be  a  bride. 

Par.     Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers  made. 

Cap.     And  too  soon  marr'd  are  those  so  early  made. 
The  earth  hath  swallow'd  all  my  hopes  but  she, 

12.  happy'\  married  Seymour  conj.  (ed.  l),  Clarke,  Hal.    Earth  up  f  ^F  F  , 

13.  made'\   married  (QJ  Ulr.  Sing.         Rowe. 

(ed.  2),  Huds.  Coll.  (ed.  2).    marri'd  Earth   hath    up-su<allow'd    Sey- 

White.  mour  conj. 

14.  The  earth]  Q^Q^.  Earth  Q^Q^  swa/iow'd]  Q^.  r.oallowed  The 
F„  Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.   Del.   Huds.   Dyce  rest.  Com.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Hal. 

she\  her  Han. 

1587,  one  of  which  Sh.  would  have  been  likelier  to  use  than  the  earliest  impression, 
there  may  have  been  the  very  easy  misprint,  by  transposition,  "  xiv  yeres."  On  such 
points  as  this  he  followed  closely  the  text  in  hand  of  the  novelists  and  chroniclers 
whose  works  he  dramatized ;  and  the  probability  of  some  such  error  is  the  greater, 
from  the  fact  that  in  Paynter's  prose  tale  the  father  gives  Juliet  yet  two  years  more, 
saying,  "  she  is  not  yet  attayned  to  the  age  of  xviii  yeares."  But,  if  no  such  error 
ivere  made,  it  would  seem  as  if  Sh.  reduced  Juliefs  age  to  the  very  lowest  point  at 
which  girls  are  marriageable  in  England,  that  he  might  accommodate  it  to  the  garru- 
lous Nurse's  characteristic  reference  to  the  earthquake. 

Cham.    The  probability  is,  that  "  fourteen"  was  a  slip  of  the  pen  or  the  press. 

13.  made]  Steev.  Puttenham,  ^r^  of  Poesy,  15S9,  uses  this  expression,  which 
teems  to  be  proverbial,  as  an  instance  of  a  figure  which  he  calls  the  Rebound  : 
"  The  maid  that  soon  married  is,  soon  marred  is."  The  jingle  between  marr'd  and 
made  is  likewise  frequent  among  the  old  writers.  So  Sidney :  "  Oh !  he  is  marr'd, 
that  is  for  others  made !"     Spenser  uses  it  very  often.     [.S"/«^'.  Huds.  Hal. 

Sing.  (ed.  2)  to  the  foregoing  citations  adds  : 

"  You're  to  be  tnarr'd  or  marked,  as  they  say, 
To-day  or  to-morrow,  to-morrow  or  to-day." — Flecknoe's  Epigratm,  p.  6i. 

White,   In  printing  Q^  the  compositor  seems  to  have  been  misled  by  the  exist 
ence  of  a  jingling  adage  similar  to  that  in  AlPs  Well,  and  perhaps  by  "made"  at 
the  end  of  the  previous  line. 

The  quibble  here  (All's  Well,  H,  iii,  315)  is  just  worth  noticing  because  it  de- 
pends upon  the  same  sound  of  the  a  in  both  words,  and  the  full  pronunciation  of 
the  participial  ed  in  both  when  the  play  was  written.  The  contraction  of  the  last, 
for  rhyme's  sake,  would  not  destroy  the  little  joke  for  an  ear  accustomed  to  the  full 
"sound  of  both  words. 

Dyce.  Sh.  has  this  jingle  several  times.  So  in  this  present  play,  H,  iv,  103,  and  ia 
Macbeth  H,  iii,  28 ;  and,  as  Paris  has  used  the  word  "  made,"  it  appears  to  me  most 
natural  that  Capulet,  in  his  rejoinder,  should  use  "  made'^  also. 

14.  swallow'd]  Del.  To  complete  the  verse  the  majority  of  edd.  put  the  defi- 
nite article  before  earth,  and  erroneously  read  swallow'd  (dissyllable)  instead  of 
•Tvalloived  (trisyllable). 

Dyce.   It  is  not  to  be  made  verse  by  retaining  the  e  in  the  participle.     [  White. 
Clarke.   This  conveys  the  idea  that  Capulet  had  other  children  who  died  early. 


32  ROMEO   AND  JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  ii 

SHe  is  the  hopeful  lady  of  my  earth  :  1 5 

But  woo  her,  gentle  Paris,  get  her  heart ; 

My  will  to  her  consent  is  but  a  part ; 

An  she  agree,  within  her  scope  of  choice 

Lies  my  consent  and  fair  according  voice. 

This  night  I  hold  an  old  accustom'd  feast,  20 

15.     She  is...earth'\   She  it  the  hope  Rowe  (ed.  2),*  &c. 
mnJ  stay  of  my  full  years  Johns,  conj.  agree'\  agreed  Q^. 

She  ;j]  Shees  Q^Qj.    Shee's  F,.  19.     fair  according^  fair-according 

earth']    fee   Ktly.     hearth   Carl-  S.  Walker  conj.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 
wright  conj.  20.     old  accustomed']  old-accustomed 

18.     An]    Capell.     And  QqFf.     If  S.  Walker  conj.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

15.  lady  of  my  earth]  Steev.  A  Gallicism  :  Fille  de  terre  is  the  French  phrase 
for  an  heiress.  [Sing.  Knt.  Huds.  Sta.  White,  Dyce.]  Earth  in  other  old  plays  is 
likewise  put  for  lands,  i.  e.,  landed  estate.     \_Sing.  (ed.  l),  Huds. 

M.Mason.  Here  earth  means  corporal  part.  \^Sing.  (ed.  l).  Sta.  "it  may 
be  so." 

Mal.  Again  in  this  play,  II,  i,  2.  Again,  in  Sh.'s  146th  Sonnet.  "  Poor  soul,  the 
centre  of  my  sinful  earth."     \^Sing.  Knt.  Sta. 

Ulr.  That  is,  she  is  the  hopeful  mistress  of  my  world,  my  life ;  not,  as  Steeven? 
lias  it,  of  my  landed  estate,  nor  as  Knight,  with  Mason  and  Malone,  thinks,  of  my 
"  body." 

Dyce  (ed.  2).    Lettsom  suspects  that  the  close  of  this  line  is  corrupt. 

Ktly.  Here  a  rime  is  lost  in  consequence  of  the  first  line  being  in  the  printer'* 
mind.  There  can  be  little  question,  I  should  think,  that  the  original  word  was  not 
"earth"  but  fee,  feud,  fief,  landed  property,  as  in  Knight's  fee,  in  fee,  &c.,  with 
which  alone  "  lady"  accords. 

Clarke.  It  is  most  likely  that  Capulet  intends  to  include  the  sense  of  "  she  is 
my  sole  surviving  offspring,  in  whom  I  have  centred  all  my  hopes." 

17.  her  consent]  Steev.  To,  in  this  instance,  signifies  in  comparison  with,  in 
proportion  to.     [Sing.  (ed.  i),  Knt. 

Del.  This  is  hardly  as  Steevens  explains  it,  but  it  is  simply  dependent  upon  "a 
part" — my  will  is  only  a  part  of  her  consent,  belongs  to  her  consent.  The  two  suc- 
ceeding verses  more  fully  explain  this  meaning. 

20.  old  accustomed]  S.  Walker  {^Crit.'  vol.  I,  p.  38)  cites  these  words  as  one 
of  his  examples  under  Art.  II.  Passages  of  Sh.  in  which  a  compound  epithet  or 
participle  (or  a  double  substantive)  has  been  resolved  into  two  simple  epithets  or  an 
adverb  and  an  epithet,  &c. 

20.  feast]  Knt.   In  Romeus  and  Juliet  the  season  of  Capulet's  feast  is  winter: 

"The  wery  winter's  nightes  restore  the  Christmas  games, 
And  now  the  season  doth  invite  to  banquet  townish  dames. 
And  fyrst  in  Capels  house,  the  chiefe  of  all  the  kyn 
Sparth  for  no  cost,  the  wonted  use  of  banquets  to  begyn." 

Sh.  had,  perhaps,  this  in  his  mind  when,  at  the  ball,  old  Capulet  cries  out,  "Arid 
quench  the  fire,  the  room  is  grown  too  hot."  But  in  every  other  instance  the  seascji 
is  unijuestif  nably  summer.     "The  day  is  hot,"  says  Benvolio.     The  Friar  is  up  it 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  33 

Whereto  I  have  invited  many  a  guest, 

Such  as  I  love ;  and  you  among  the  store, 

One  more,  most  welcome,  makes  my  number  more. 

At  my  poor  house  look  to  behold  this  night 

Earth-treading  stars  that  make  dark  heaven  light :  25 

Such  comfort  as  do  lusty  young  men  feel 

23.     One\  Once  Rowe.  heaven's  light  Theob.  Johns,     make.... 

most\  o'  th'  Han.  even  light  Warb.    mask. ..heaven's  light 

makes'\  make  Capell  conj.  Jackson  conj. 

25.     make. ...heaven    light'\     make....  26.    young  men"]  yeomen  Johns,  conj. 

his  garden  "  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye."  Juliet  hears  the  nightingale 
sing  from  the  pomegranate  tree.  During  the  whole  course  of  the  poem  the  action 
appears  to  move  under  the  "  vaulty  heaven"  of  Italy. 

Sta.  [thus  continues  Knt.'s  quotation  from  Romeus  and  Jul.]  : 

"  No  lady  fayre  or  fowle  was  in  Verona  towne, 
No  knight  or  gentleman  of  high  or  lowe  renowne  ; 
But  Capilet  himselfe  hath  byd  unto  his  feast, 
Or  by  his  name  in  paper  sent,  appoynted  as  a  geast." 

25.  dark  heaven  light]  Warb.  This  nonsense  should  be  reformed  thus:  "darli 
even  light,"  i.  e..  When  the  evening  is  dark  and  without  stars,  these  earthly  stars 
supply  their  place  and  light  it  up.     \_Knt. 

M.  Mason.  I  propose,  "  dark,  heaven's  light,"  i.  e.  earthly  stars  that  outshine  the 
stars  of  heaven  and  make  them  appear  dark  by  their  own  superior  brightness.  [A«/. 
Sing.  (ed.  2),  "  an  ingenious  emendation." 

Knt.  It  appears  unnecessary  to  alter  the  original  reading,  and  especially  as  pas- 
sages in  the  masquerade  scene  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  banqueting  room 
opened  into  a  garden,  as  "  Her  beauty  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night."     \_Sta. 

Sta.  a  better  reason  for  abiding  by  the  original  text  is  to  consider  that  the  "  dark 
heaven"  in  Sh.'s  mind  was  most  probably  the  Heaven  of  the  stage,  hung,  as  was  the 
custom  during  the  performance  of  tragedy,  with  black. 

Clarke.  As  poetical  hyperbole  may  it  not  bear  the  excellent  sense  of  "  mortal 
ladies,  brilliant  as  stars  that  make  night  as  bright  as  day  ?" 

26.  lusty  young  men]  Johnson.  To  say,  and  to  say  in  pompous  words,  that  a 
youfig  7nan  shall  feel  as  much  in  an  assembly  of  beauties  as  young  men  feel  in  the 
month  of  April  is  surely  to  waste  sound  upon  a  very  poor  sentiment.  I  read  "  lusty 
yeomen."  You  shall  feel,  from  the  sight  and  conversation  of  these  ladies,  such  hopes 
of  happiness  and  such  pleasure,  as  the  farmer  receives  from  the  spring,  when  the 
plenty  of  the  year  begins,  and  the  prospect  of  the  harvest  fills  him  with  delight. 
[Huds.,  substantially. 

RiTSON.  Young  men  are  ctr\.3.\n\y  yeomen.  In  A  Lytell  Geste  of  Robyn  Hode, 
printed  by  Wynken  de  Worde,  where  " yonge  men"  occurs  four  times,  it  is  in  each 
instance  yeomen  in  Copland's  edition  printed  not  many  years  alter.  See  also  Spel- 
man's  Glossary,  voce  Juniores.  It  is  no  less  singular,  that  in  a  subsequent  act  of 
this  very  play  the  old  copies  should,  in  two  places,  read  " young  trees"  and  "young 
tree,"  instead  of  "yew-trees"  and  "yew-tree."     \_Stng. 

Steev.    To  tell  Paris  that  he  should  feel  the  same  sort  of  pleasure  in  an  assemblv 

C 


34 


A-O-AfEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act. 


I,  sc.  il 


When  well-apparell'd  April  on  the  heel 

Of  limping  winter  treads,  even  such  delight 

Among  fresh  female  buds  shall  you  this  night 

Inherit  at  my  house ;  hear  all,  all  see, 

And  like  her  most  whose  merit  most  shall  be : 

Which  on  more  view,  of  many  mine  being  one 


30 


29.     female'\  fennell  QqF,. 

32.  Which  on  more\  Q^Q^.  Which 
one  more  Q^Q^Ff.  Rowe.  Such  amongst 
(Qi)  ^teev.  Within  your  Johns,  coiij. 
On  which  more  Capell.  Search  among 
Stecv.  conj.  Such,  amongst  Var.  (Sing.) 
Dyce  (ed.  l),  Sta.  White,  Hal.  Clarke. 
Amongst  such  Ulr,  Among  such  Sing, 
(ed.  2)  conj.  Such  as  on  Ktly.  conj. 
Whilst  on  more  Dyce,  ed.  2  (Mason 
conj.).    Which  one,  o'er  Jackson  conj. 

lVhich...view,  of'\  Such  amongst 


few;  o/"  Badham  conj.  Which  one  may 
vie  with  Bullock  conj.* 

view,  of  manyl  view,  of  many, 
Q^FjFjF^,  Rowe.  veiw,  of  many,  Q3F,, 
view  of  many,  ^f)_,' 

view,  of  many  mine'\  view  of 
many,  mine  Pope,  Han.  Sing.  Coll.  Ulr. 
Del.  Huds.  Dyce  (ed.  l),  Hal.  Clarke, 
Ktly.  vietu  of  many,  mine,  Theob.  Warb. 
Johns.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Dyce  (ed.  2), 
Sta.  White,  Cham. 


ot  beauties  which  young  folk  feel  in  that  season  wlien  they  are  most  gay  and  amor- 
ous, was  surely  as  much  as  the  old  man  ought  to  say : 

" ubi  subdita  flamma  medullis, 

Vere  magis  (quia  vere  calor  redit  ossibus)." — Virg.  Gear,  iii,  271-2.     \SiHg. 

Mal.    Sh.'s  98th  Sonnet  may  also  confirm  the  reading  of  the  text : 

"  When  proud-pied  April  dressed  in  all  his  trim 
Hath  put  a  spirit  oi  youth  in  every  thing."    [Sing:  Coll.  Huds. 

Sing.  Cotgrave  translates  ♦'  Franc-gontier,  a  good  rich  yeoman ;  substantial 
yonker.''     He  also  renders  "  Vergaland,  a  lustie  yotiker.'" 

Knt.  The  spirit  of  Italian  poetry  was  upon  Sh.  when  he  wrote  these  lines ;  and 
he  thought  not  of  the  lusty  yeomen  in  his  fields, — 

"  While  the  ploughman  near  at  hand 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land  " — 

hut  of  such  gay  groups  as  Boccaccio  has  painted,  who 

"  Sat  down  in  the  high  grass  and  in  the  shade 
Of  many  a  tree  sun-proof." 

Sh.  has,  indeed,  explained  his  own  idea  of  "well-apparelled  April"  in  his  98th 
Sonnet.  Douce  has  well  observed,  that  in  this  passage  Sh.  might  "  have  had  in  view 
the  decorations  which  accompany  the  above  month  in  some  of  the  manuscript  and 
printed  calendars,  where  the  young  folks  are  represented  as  sitting  together  on  the 
grass ;  the  men  ornamenting  the  girls  with  chaplets  of  flowers." 

Huds.  WTiat  feelings  the  young  are  apt  to  have  in  the  spring  can  hardly  need 
explaining  to  those  who  remember  their  youth. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Surely  we  need  not,  with  Ritson,  speculate  upon  emendation 
where  none  is  required,  and  there  is  no  need  for  altering  "  young  men"  to  yeomen, 
'iiough  yeomen  may  be  "  young  men,"  or  "  young  men"  yeomen. 

30.  inherit]   Nf  al.    That  is,  to  possess.     [Sing.  Huds.  White. 

32.  Which  on  more  view,  etc.]    Johnson.    This   line  I  do  not   tinderstand 


ACT  I,  SC.  ii.j  ROHfEO    AND    JULIET.  35 

May  stand  in  number,  though  in  reckoning  none. 

Come,  go  with  me. Go,  sirrah,  trudge  about 

Through  fair  Verona ;  find  those  persons  out  35 

Whose  names  are  written  there  \_Gives  a  paper]  and  to  them  say, 
My  house  and  welcome  on  their  pleasure  stay.  [Exeunt 

Capulet  and  Paris. 

34.     [To  Serv,]  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2).  36.     [Gives....]  Mai.    Omitted  in  Q:j 

Ff,  Cambr. 

The  old  folio,  gives  no  help.     I  can  offer  nothing  better  than  Within  your  view. 
[Hal. 

Mal.   There  is  here  an  allusion  to  an  old  proverbial  expression,  that  one  is  no 

aumber.     So  in  Decker's  Honest  Whore,  Part  II :  " to  fall  to  one  ...  is  to  fall 

to  none,  For  one  no  number  is."     In  Sh.'s  136th  Sonnet:  "Among  a  number  one  is 
reckoned  none."      \_Sing.  (ed.  l),  Verp.  Huds. 

M.  Mason.  This  passage  will  not  be  rendered  intelligible  by  Steevens's  conj., 
which  is  neither  sense  nor  English.  The  old  folio  leads  us  to  the  right  reading, 
which  I  should  suppose  to  have  been  thus  :  "  Whilst  on  more  view  of  many,"  &c. 
With  this  alteration  the  sense  is  clear,  and  the  deviation  from  the  folio  very  trifling. 
["Only  the  change  of  'ch'  to  'A/,'"  adds  Dyce  (ed.  2),  who  adopts  Mason's  conj.] 

Sing.  (ed.  i).  Hear  all,  see  all,  and  like  her  most  who  has  the  most  merit;  her, 
which,  after  attentively  regarding  the  many,  my  daughter  being  one,  may  stand 
unic/ue  in  merit,  though  she  may  be  reckoned  nothing,  or  held  in  no  estimation. 
[^Huds.J  Which  is  here  used  for  Tvho,  a  substitution  frequent  in  Sh.,  as  in  all  the 
writers  of  his  time.     [  Verp. 

Del.  (Lexikon).  Sh,  here  uses  which  in  the  loose  relative  connection  peculiar  to 
him,  by  which  the  relative  pronoun  does  not  refer  to  a  certain  antecedent  word,  but 
refers  the  wliole  related  sentence  to  the  sentence  preceding. 

Ulr.  This  explanation  [of  Delius']  I  find  as  difficult  to  understand  as  the  words 
themselves.  Under  these  circumstances  I  have  turned  back  to  the  reading  of  Q^, 
holding  the  readings  of  the  other  copies  for  misprints  or  compositors'  sophistications, 
and  I  have  allowed  myself  to  introduce  an  emendation  into  the  text,  which,  in  my 
opinion,  gives  a  perfectly  clear  sense,  and  can  hardly  be  termed  a  change  of  the 
text,  as  it  consists  only  in  transposing  the  first  two  words.  Such  a  transposition 
seems  always  justifiable  where  the  sense  requires  it,  as  misprints  of  this  kird,  in  the 
very  negligent  printing  of  all  the  old  edd.,  are  very  numerous. 

Badham  {'Cam.  Essays'  1856).  The  cause  of  all  this  confusion  is,  that  the  read- 
ing of  Qj,  being  unintelligible,  was  altered  in  the  subsequent  Qq,  and  that  alteration 
was  adopted  by  the  folio.  The  faulty  word  was  left  untouched,  and  the  sound  parts 
were  corrupted  by  the  editor  of  Q^^,  who  did  not  see  that  the  right  reading  was, 
"  such  amongst  few." 

Sta.   Neither  reading  [of  Qq.  nor  Ff.]  affords  a  clear  sense. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).    The  later  edd.  are  not  more  intelligible  than  Q^. 

White.  The  passage  is  obscure,  elliptical,  and  debased  by  a  poor  conceit;  hut, 
remembering  that  one  used  to  be  regarded  as  no  number,  it  seems  to  mean,  Such 
{i.  e.,  so  high  in  merit)  my  daughter  may  appear;  and  being  one  (of  those  so  distin 
guished)  may  stand,  in  number,  one,  though,  in  reckoning,  nothing. 


36  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  ii 

Sen.'.  Find  them  out  whose  names  are  written  here  ?  It  is 
written  that  the  shoemaker  should  meddle  with  his  yard  and  the 
tailor  with  his  last,  the  fisher  with  his  pencil  and  the  painter  with 
his  nets ;  but  I  am  sent  to  find  those  persons  whose  names  are 
here  writ,  and  can  never  find  what  names  the  writing  person  hath 
here  writ.     I  must  to  the  learned.     In  good  time. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  RoMEO. 

Ben.     Tut,  man,  one  fire  burns  out  another's  burning, 

One  pain  is  lessen'd  by  another's  anguish ;  45 

Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning ; 

One  desperate  grief  cures  with  another's  languish : 
Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thy  eye, 
And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die. 

Rovi.     Your  plantain  leaf  is  excellent  for  that.  50 

j8.     written  here  ?  It']  KovfQ.  written  43.     I. ..learned]  In  parenthesis,  Qq 

lere  !  It  Dyce,  Cambr.  written.  Here  it  Ff. 
QqFjF^.    written.  Heere  it  F,.    written.  44.     out]  out,  Q^. 

Heert  it  F^.   written  here !  [turns  and  46.     holp]  helped  Pope,  &c. 

twists  the  notes  about.]    Here  [tapping  47.     cures]  cure  Pope,  &c. 

his  head]  t^  Nicholson  conj,*  48.     thy  eye]  Q^.    the  eye  The  resi. 

41.  persons]  persons  out  Capell.  Rowe,  &c.  Camp.  Knt.  Sing.  (ed.  2), 

42.  here  writ]  writ  Ff,  Knt.  Cham.  Ktly. 

Halliwell.   No  explanation  of  this  yet  given  is  at  all  satisfactory. 

Ktly.  I  should  feel  inclined  to  read,  "  Such  as  on  view."  By  "  more"  must  b« 
meant  more  extensive.  The  aposiopesis,  so  suited  to  the  hasty,  impetuous  character 
of  the  speaker,  makes  all  clear. 

Clarke.  "  My  daughter  being  one  among  many  such  ['  earth-treading  stars'  and 
'fresh  female  buds,'  as  I  have  described,  and  whom  you  will  see  there],  she  may 
stand  in  the  number  of  them,  though  she  may  not  be  counted  by  you  as  '  her  whose 
merit  most  shall  be.'  " 

50.  plantain  leaf]  Steev.  This  was  a  blood-stauncher,  and  was  formerly  ap- 
plied to  green  wounds.  The  same  thought  occurs  in  Albumazar :  "  Bring  a  fresh 
plantain  leaf,  I've  broke  my  shin."     [-S"";,^'.  Coll.  Huds. 

Knt.  Of  course  Sh.  did  not  allude  to  the  tropical  fruit-bearing  plant,  but  to  ih* 
common  plantain  of  our  English  marshy  grounds  and  ditches.  The  plantain  was 
also  considered  as  a  preventive  of  poison,  and  to  this  supposed  virtue  Romeo  first 
alludes. 

Coll.   Costard  calls  for  it  in  Love's  L.  L.,  Ill,  i,  74. 

Ulr.  Romeo  means,  Thy  remedy  is  as  excellent  for  my  complaint  as  a  plantain 
leaf  is  for  a  b'oken  shin.  Plantain  was  used  to  stop  the  blood,  but  not  for  a  fracture 
of  a  bone,  to  which  such  a  remedy  obviously  cannot  apply.  Hence,  when  Costard, 
\n  L.  L.  L.,  calls  for  a  plantain  leaf  for  his  broken  shin,  or  a  fellow  in  Ben  Jonson'a 
"  The  Case  is  Altered,"  wants  it  for  a  broken  head,  it  is,  I  think,  in  the  saire  ironical 


ACT  I,  SC.  II. 


ROMEO   AND   JULIEI. 


Z7 


Ben.     For  what,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Rom.  For  your  broken  shin. 

Ben.     Why,  Romeo,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Rom.     Not  mad,  but  bound  more  than  a  madman  is ; 
Shut  up  in  prison,  kept  without  my  food, 
Whipt  and  tormented  and — Good-den,  good  fellow.  ^5 

Serv.     God  gi'  good-den. — I  pray,  sir,  can  you  read  ? 

Rom.     Ay,  mine  own  fortune  in  my  misery. 

Serv.     Perhaps  you  have  learned  it  without  book  :  but,  I  pray, 
can  you  read  any  thing  you  see  ? 

Roin.     Ay,  if  I  know  the  letters  and  the  language.  60 

Serv.     Ye  say  honestly :  rest  you  merry ! 

Rom.     Stay,  fellow ;  I  can  read.  [Reads. 

'  Signior  Martino  and  his  wife  and  daughters  ;  County  Anselme 


55.  Good-den']  Coll.  Godden  QqF^F, 
Fj.  Good-e'en  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Var.  Knt. 
Good  den  Capell.  God-den  Dyce,  Cambr. 
God  den  Sta. 

56.  God  gi^  good- den]  Godgigoden 
QqFjF^F  .  God  gi'  Good-e'eti  F^,  Rowe, 
&c.  God  gp  go' den  Capell.  God  ye  good 
den  Sta. 

58,59.  Prose,  Pope  (ed.  I ).  As  verse, 
QqFf,  Rowe,  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Sta.  end- 
ing first  line  at  book.  Ending  first  line  at 
pray.  Pope  (ed.  2),  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 


58.     learned]  Qq.  learn' d  Ff,  Rowe, 
&c.  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Sta. 

61.  [Going  CoW.  (ed.  2),  Clarke. 

62.  [Reads.]. ...the  Letter.  QqFf. 
63-68.     As  nine  lines  of  verse,  Dyce 

(ed.  2),  (Capell  conj.) 

63.  daughters]     Qq.     daughter    Ff, 
Rowe,  Capell,  Sta. 

County']  Count  Rowe,  &c. 
Anselme]   QjQ^Q.F^F^.   Ansel  mi 
Q^.   Anselm  F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.   Anselmo 
Dyce  (ed.  2),  (Capell  conj.) 


tense  as  here.  If  Romeo,  as  the  English  commentators  suppose,  really  considered 
plantain  a  good  remedy  for  a  broken  bone,  his  words  would  have  no  sense. 

Beisly.  [Plantago  major)  greater  plantain.  The  leaves  were,  in  Sh.'s  time,  used 
to  heal  fresh  wounds,  and  the  village  herbalists  now  use  them  for  the  same  purpose. 
The  plant  grows  near  the  abodes  of  men,  and  commonly  by  waysides;  hence  it  ob- 
tained the  common  name  of  "  way-bread." 

BartholomcEus  speaks  of  it  as  "  healing  sore  wounds,  and  biting  of  wood  houndes, 
and  abateth  the  swelling  thereof."  And  Drayton,  in  "  Polyolbion,"  has  "  Plaintain 
for  a  sore."  Knight's  note  is  not  correct,  as  the  plant  grows  on  waysides  and  mostly 
in  dry  places.  The  water  plantain  (Alisma  plantago)  grows  in  ditches  and  moist 
places,  but  this  is  not  the  plant  Sh.  alluded  to.  The  figure  of  the  plant  given  by 
Knight  is  unlike  the  common  plantain. 

Cham.   The  buck's-horn  plantain. 

55.  Good-den]  Nares.  A  mere  corruption  of  ^wt/ f'««  for  good  evening.  This 
salutation  was  used  by  our  ancestors  as  soon  as  noon  was  past,  after  which  time,  good 
morrow,  or  good  day,  was  esteemed  improper.     [  Vide  post  II,  iv,  99.]     \_.Dyce. 

61.  rest  you  merry]  Del.  He  supposes  Romeo  to  be  a  jester,  from  whom  no 
rational  answer  is  to  be  expected,  and  is  about  to  leave  him. 

6j    Anselme]   S.  Walker  {'Crit.'  vol.  I,  p.  2).   A  late  writer  has  anticipated 

4 


^S  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  i.  sc.  ii 

and  his  beauteous  sisters  ;  The  Lady  widow  of  Vitruvio  ;  Signiof 
Placentio  and  his  lovely  nieces;  Merciitio  and  his  brother  Valen- 
tine ;  Mine  uncle  Capulct,  his  wife,  and  daughters  ;  My  fair  niece 
Rosaline  ;  Livia  ;  Signior  Valentio  and  his  cousin  Tybalt ;  Lucio 
and  the  lively  Helena.' 
A.  fair  assembly:  whither  should  they  come? 

Saw     Up.  70 

Rom.     Whither  ? 

Sen'.     To  supper;  to  our  house. 

Rom.     Whose  house  ? 

Scn\     My  master's. 

6y.     Livia'\    Livio   Rowe   (ed.   2),*  71,  72.      Whither?     Serv.      To   ^uy- 

Popt      gentle  Livia  Capell   conj.     and  per;   to\   Theob.    (Warb).     Whether  to 

Livia  Dyce  (ed.  2),  (Courtenay  conj.),  supper?  Ser:  7(7  (Q,).    Wliither  to  sup- 

Ktly.  per?  Ser.   To  Q,,  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  Sta. 

68.  lively\  lovely  Rowe.  IVhither    to     supper.     Ser.  ?      To    Q,. 

69.  [giving  back  the  Note.  Capell,  IVhither  to  supper.  Str.  To  Q^^.  Whith- 
Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cham.  er ?  to  supper?  Ser.  To  FfQ^,  Rowe, 
Clarke,  Ktly.  Pope,  Johns.  Coll.  Huds.  Hal.  Whither  ? 

70.  Up"]    To   sup   Sta.   conj.     Up...  Ser.  7b  jM//^r /"t)  Han.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 
Ktly.  72.      To  supper"]  cm.  Capell. 

me  in  remarking  that  the  list  of  invitations  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  in  verse.  In  1.  67 
he  has  properly  supplied  the  deficient  syllable:  "  Rosaline  and  Livia."  In  1.  63  I 
suspect  that  for  "Ansehne"  we  ought  to  read  "Anselmo."  The  writer  in  question, 
if  I  recollect  right,  is  Mr.  Courtenay. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  But  Capell  had  long  ago  written  thus :  "  How  if  Capulet's  list  of 
invited  be  metre  too  ?  odd  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nearly  so  now ;  for  reading  'Anselm/ 
Anselmo,  and  giving  'Livid'  her  epithet  (^gentle,  for  instance),  which  are  both  propei 
and  something  more,  it  resolves  itself  into  nine  as  complete  iambicks  as  any  in  Sh., 
nor  can  be  made  prose  without  a  great  deal  more  altering  than  goes  to  making  it 
verse."     Notes,  &c.,  vol.  II,  P.  iv,  p.  4. 

Del.  The  list  of  guests,  as  Romeo  reads  it  off  and  accompanies  it  with  his  own 
remarks — for  the  epithets  to  the  names  can  scarcely  be  deemed  to  have  been  all 
written  down  by  Capulet — although  printed  as  prose  in  the  old  as  well  as  in  the  late 
editions,  is  nevertheless  tolerably  regular  blank  verse.  [Delius  has  substantially  the 
»ame  in  his  Lexicon,  1852.] 

65.  Mercutio]  Cij^rke.  It  is  noteworthy  that  Mercutio  here  figures  among  the 
invited  guests,  although  we  find  him  always  associating  with  the  young  men  of  the 
Montague  family.  He  is  the  prince's  "  kinsman,"  and  it  may  be  supposed  is  OD 
terms  of  acquaintance  with  both  the  rival  Houses,  although  evidently  having  greater 
intimacy  with  the  Montagues  than  the  Capulets. 

67.  Rosaline]  Clarke.  This  is  the  point  in  the  play  which  testifies  that  Rosa- 
line is  a  Capulet. 

72.  To  supper]  Mal.  These  words  undoubtedly  belong  to  the  servant,  to  whom 
'Jiey  were  tr.in  iferred  by  Theobald.     \^Sing.  (ed.  2I,  Dyce. 


ACT  1.  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  39 

Rom.     Indeed,  I  should  have  ask'd  you  that  before.  75 

Sen'.  Now  I'll  tell  you  without  asking:  my  master  is  the 
great  rich  Capulet ;  and  if  you  be  not  of  the  house  of  Mon- 
tagues, I  pray,  come  and  crush  a  cup  of  wine.     Rest  you  merry  ! 

{Exit. 

Ben.     At  this  same  ancient  feast  of  Capulet's 
Sups  the  fair  Rosaline  whom  thou  so  lov'st,  80 

With  all  the  admired  beauties  of  Verona. 
Go  thither,  and  with  unattainted  eye 
Compare  her  face  with  some  that  I  shall  show, 
And  I  will  make  thee  think  thy  swan  a  crow. 

Rom,     When  the  devout  religion  of  mine  eye  85 

Maintains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to  fires ! 
And  these,  who,  often  drown'd,  could  never  die. 

Transparent  heretics,  be  burnt  for  liars ! 
One  fairer  than  my  love !  the  all-seeing  sun 
Ne'er  saw  her  match  since  first  the  world  begun.  90 

Ben,     Tut!  you  saw  her  fair,  none  else  being  by, 

76.  78.     Now...merry'\  Verse  by  Ca-  80.     lov'st]   Rowe.    lovest  F^Q.F  F  , 
pell,    ending   asking :    Capukt ;    Mon-         Coll.  (ed.  2),  Cambr.    loves  ^Slfl^v 
(agues,  -wine,  merry.  86.     fires']   Pope,  fire  QqFf,  Rowe, 

77.  Montagues]  the  Montagues  Ca-         White. 

pell.  87.     these]  those  Ilan. 

78.  pray,  come]  pray  you,  come  0,2^-  91.  Tut]  Tut  Tut  F^.  Tut,  tut  F^ 
pell.                                                                      F^,   Rowe,  &c.,  Capell,  Coll.   (ed.   2). 

crush]  crash  Han.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

78.  crush  a  cup]  Steev.  This  cant  expression  seems  once  to  have  been  com- 
mon. I  have  met  with  it  often  in  the  old  plays.  \^Coll.  Verp.]  We  still  say,  in  cant 
langu.ige,  to  crack  a  bottle.   \^Sing.  Valpy,  Haz.  Huds.  White,  Dyce,  Clarke. 

In  The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abington,  1599  :  "  Fill  the  pot,  hostess,  &c.,  and 

we'll  crush  it."     In  Hoffman's  tragedy,  1631  :   " we'll  crush  a  cup  of  thine 

own  country  wine."  In  The  Finder  of  Wakefield,  1599,  the  Cobbler  says :  "  Come, 
George,  we'll  crush  a  pot  before  we  part."     \_Sta.  Hal. 

Sta.    These  instances  might  be  easily  multiplied. 

86.  to  fires]  White.  Modem  edd.  have  hitherto  silently  read,  "  to  fires  "  on  ac- 
count of  the  rhyme  to  "  liars ;"  but  Q,  and  Q^,  though  printed  from  different  MSS., 
both  read  "to  fire"  (or  fier).  The  mere  difference  of  a  final  s  seems  not  to  have 
been  regarded  in  rhyme  in  Sh.'s  day,  and  the  reading  "  fires"  tends  to  impoverish  a 
line  not  over-rich. 

91.  Tut]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  second  interjection,  necessary  to  the  metre,  is  from 
the  (MS). 

DvcE  (ed.  2).  See  S.  Walker's  "Crit."  vol.  II,  p.  146  [where  this  reduplication 
\\  considered  necessary]. 


40  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  a 

Heiself  poised  with  herself  in  either  eye. 

But  in  that  crystal  scales  let  there  be  vveigh'd 

Your  lady's  love  against  some  other  maid 

That  I  will  show  you  shining  at  this  feast,  95 

93.     ///<;/]   those  Rowe,  &c.,  Capell,  94.     lady's    love~\     lady-love    Theob. 

Var.  (Haz).  Coll.  Hal.  &c.,  Corn.  Haz.  Dyce  (ed.  2).    lady  lovi 

scales']    scale    S.    Walker    conj.  Capell.    lady's  look  or  laud  Ulr.  coni. 

(withdrawn).  lady  and  love  Ktly. 

93.  that  crystal  scales]  Mal.  The  emendation,  those,  was  made  by  Rowe. 
\Coll.  (ed.  I.)]  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  necessary.  The  poet  might  have  used 
tcales  for  the  entire  machine.     \^Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Knt.    Scales  is  used  as  a  singular  noun.     \_Dyce  ["Remarks,''  &c.)    Huds. 

Dyce  ["Remarks,"  &c).  And  so  it  was  frequently  employed  by  the  poet's  con- 
temporaries.    [^Sing.  (ed.  2). 

Walker  ["Crit."  vol.  Ill,  p.  223).  We  might,  indeed,  read  "that  c.  scale;"  but 
this  would  contradict  the  meaning;  and  Dyce  says,  as  above  (and  he  is  not  likely  to 
be  mistaken).  Scales  is  one  of  a  numlier  of  substantives  which  were  then  used  as 
singular  nouns;  arms  (in  the  sense  of  armorial  bearings),  lists  (the  place  of  combat, 
so  called),  stocks  [to  fWov),  shambles,  breeches,  colours,  &c. 

94.  lady's  love]  Theobald.  But  the  comparison  was  not  to  be  betwixt  the 
Love  that  Romeo's  Mistress  paid  him  and  the  Person  of  any  other  young  Woman  : 
but  betwixt  Romeo's  Mistress  herself  and  some  other  that  should  be  match'd  against 
her.     The  Poet,  therefore,  must  certainly  have  wrote,  "  Your  Lady-love." 

Heath.  That  is,  the  love  you  bear  to  your  lady,  which,  in  our  language,  is  com- 
Djonly  used  for  the  lady  herself.     [Sing.  Huds.  Dyce. 

Sing.    Perhaps  we  should  read  Your  lady  love.     [Hitds. 

Dyce  ["Remarks,"  &c).   To  me,  at  least,  this  explanation  (Heath's)  is  unsatis 
factory  :  qy.  did  Sh.  write  "  Your  lady-love  ?" 

Ulr.  After  all,  the  misprint  may  be  in  the  word  love,  and  perhaps  instead  thereof 
we  should  read  look,  or  laud. 

Walker  ["Crit."  vol.  I,  p.  255).  How  can  your  lady's  love  mean  anything  but 
your  lady's  passion  for  you  ?  which  would  here  be  contrary  to  the  fact  as  well  as  to 
the  speaker's  meaning.     Read  your  ladie-love  ;  and  so  I  find  Dyce  suggests. 

Sta.  a  corruption,  I  suspect,  for  "  lady-love."  It  was  not  Romeo's  love  for 
Rosaline,  nor  hers  for  him,  which  was  to  be  poised,  but  the  lady  herself,  "  against 
some  other  maid." 

White.  It  seems  as  if  we  should  read  "lady-love'^  here;  and  this  obvious  change 
has  been  suggested  by  Dyce  and  Singer,  and  declared  absolutely  necessary  by  S. 
Walker.  But  the  imperfect  and  surreptitious  (QJ  has  "ladyes  loue,"  and  the  subse 
quent  old  copies,  though  printed  from  another  MS.,  "ladies  loue."  Sh.  too,  often  a; 
he  had  opportunity,  never  used  "  lady-love,"  if  I  may  trust  my  memory,  or  evei; 
Mrs.  Clarke's  Concordance.  And  I  more  than  doubt  that  the  compound  "  lady-love'' 
is  as  old  as  the  V.me  of  Sh.,  although  I  believe  the  general  opinion  is  quite  the 
Eontrary. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  I  did  not  know  th.at  this  was  Theobald's  reading  when  I  proposed 
a  in  my  Remarks,  &c.     Grant  Wliite  says:  "  I  more  than  doubt"  [&c.,  ut  supra.] 


/ 


ACT  I,  SC.  Hi.] 


ROMEO    AND   JULIET. 


And  she  shall  scant  show  well  that  now  shows  best. 

Rom.     I'll  go  along,  no  such  sight  to  be  shown, 
But  to  rejoice  in  splendour  of  mine  own. 


41 


\Exetint 


Scene  III.     A  room  in  Capu let's  house. 

Enter  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

La.  Cap.     Nurse,  where's  my  daughter  ?  call  her  forth  to  me. 
Nm-se.     Now,  by  my  maidenhead  at  twelve  year  old, 
I  bade  her  come. — What,  lamb  !  what,  lady-bird  ! — 


96.  she  shall  scant  show  well']  Qq. 
(he  shew  scant  shell,  well,  F^.  shele  shew 
scant,  well,  F^.  she^l  shew  scant  well,  F^ 
F  .  she  will  skew  scant  well,  Rowe  (ed. 
2),*  &c. 

shows']  shewes  QjQ^FjF^Q,.  seemes 
(Q,)Q,.  Ulr-  Cambr. 

97.  sight]  light  Anon,  conj.* 
Scene  ni.]  Capell.    Scene  ii.  Rowe. 

Scene  iv.  Pope. 


A    room...]     Capell.      Capulet's 
House.  Rowe. 

2-4.  Now... for  bid !]  Two  lines  Ff. 
Now...yuliet.  As  verse  first  by  Johnson. 
Prose  in  Qq.  The  Nurse's  speeches  are 
in  italics  in  Qq. 

2.  year]  yeeres  Q.,  years  F  ,  Rowe, 
&c.  Com. 

3.  bade  her  come,]  bad  her  come,  Q^ 
Q  Ff.  had  her,  come,  Q  .  had  her: 
come,  Q  . 


But  it  certainly  is.  Compare  Wilson's  Coblers  Prophesie,  1594  :  "then  downe  came 
I  my  lady  loue  to  finde."     Sig.  D.  3. 

Ktly.  This  is  very  oddly  expressed,  for  it  was  the  lady  herself,  not  her  love,  that 
was  to  be  weighed.  I  doubt  if  Theobald's  phrase  was  then  in  use.  I  read  "lady 
and  love,"  the  *5r*  of  the  MS.  having  been  made  s  by  the  printer,  as  it  became  /  in 
'« meant"  for  "  mean  and"  in  All's  Well,  IV,  iii. 

Clarke.  It  is  possible  that  this  may  mean  "  the  small  amount  ol  love  borne  you 
by  your  lady."  Romeo  has  before  told  Benvolio  that  "  she  hath  forsworn  to  love," 
and  it  may  be  that,  in  Sh.'s  elliptical  style,  the  passage  means,  "  let  there  be  weighed 
the  little  love  your  lady  bears  you  against  the  charms  of  some  other  maid,"  &c. 

2.  Nurse]  Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  II,  p.  152,  ed.  1836).  The  character  of 
the  Nurse  is  the  nearest  thing  in  Sh.  to  a  direct  borrowing  from  mere  observation ; 
and  the  reason  is,  that  as  in  infancy  and  childhood  the  individual  in  nature  is  a 
representative  of  a  class — just  as  in  describing  one  larch  tree  you  generalize  a  grove 
of  them — so  it  is  nearly  as  much  so  in  old  age.  The  generalization  is  done  to  the 
poet's  hand.  Here  you  have  the  garrulity  of  age  strengthened  by  the  feelings  of  a 
long-trusted  servant,  whose  sympathy  with  the  mother's  affections  gives  her  privi- 
leges and  rank  in  the  household.  And  observe  the  mode  of  connection  by  accident 
of  time  and  place,  and  the  childlike  fondness  of  repetition  in  a  second  childhood, 
and  also  that  happy,  humble  ducking  under,  yet  constant  resurgence  against,  the 
check  of  her  superiors.     [  Verp.  Huds.  Sta. 

3.  lady-bird]  Del.  The  nurse  does  not  apply  this  epithet  to  Juliet  in  the  insult- 
ing sense  in  which  the  term  is  now  applied  by  the  vulgar,  but  sportively,  in  allusion 
to  her  fluttering  hithe  ■'.nd  thither,  and  because  she  will  not  allow  herself  to  be  at 
once  found  when  callea. 

4  » 


42 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


ACT  I,  SC  UL 


God  forbid  !— Where's  this  girl  ?— What.  Juliet ! 

Enter  ]v\.\f.l. 

jhd.     How  now  !  who  calls  ? 

Nurse.  Your  mother. 

jful.  Madam,  I  am  here. 

What  IS  your  will  ? 

La.  Cap.     This  is  the  matter. — Nurse,  give  leave  awhile, 
We  must  talk  in  secret. — Nurse,  come  back  again ; 
I  have  remember'd  me,  thou's  hear  our  counsel. 
Thou  know'st  my  daughter's  of  a  pretty  age. 

Nurse.     Faith,  I  can  tell  her  age  unto  an  hour. 

La.  Cap.     She's  not  fourteen. 

Nurse.  I'll  lay  fourteen  of  my  teeth,- 

And  yet,  to  my  teen  be  it  spoken,  I  have  but  four, — 


lO 


4.  Where' s...yuliet\  Separate  line, 
QqFf. 

5,  6.  How...vnU?'\  Capell.  Three 
lines,  QqPT,  Camhr. 

IVIiat  is  your  will?'\   om.   Sey- 
mour conj. 

7-10.  This. ..age.']  As  verse  first  by 
Capell.    Prose  in  QqFf. 

9.  thoWs']  Dyce,  Cambr.  thous' 
Rowe.  thotise  QqFf,  White,  thou  shalt 
Pope,  &c.  Var.  et  cet. 

our]  my  F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

10.  knffivst]  Q  .    knowest  The  rest. 


Rowe,  Sta. 

12-15.  PH.... Lammas-tide  ?]  Ar- 
ranged as  in  Steev.  (1793).  I'll.. .four- 
teen as  prose,  Ho'M...tide  ?  as  one  line  in 
Qq.  Four  lines,  ending  teeth,.. ..spoken, 
....fourteen,  Lammas-tide  f  in  Ff,  Rowe. 
Three  lines,  ending  teeth,.. .four. ..Lam- 
mas-tide ?  in  Capell.  Prose  in  Pope, 
&c.  Ktly. 

12.  of  my]  6'  my  Capell. 

13.  teen]  teeth  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  Pope, 
Capell. 

be  it]  he  V  Dyce  (ed.  2). 


4.  God  forbid !]  Sta.  An  exquisite  touch  of  nature.  The  old  nurse,  in  hei 
fond  garrulity,  uses  "lady-bird"  as  a  term  of  endearment;  but  recollecting  its  ap- 
plication to  a  female  of  loose  manners,  checks  herself; — "  God  forbid !"  her  darling 
should  prove  such  a  one ! 

Dyce.  Staunton  is  altogether  mistaken.  The  nurse  says  that  she  has  already 
"  bid  Juliet  come  :"  she  then  calls  out,  "  \Nniat,  lamb !  what,  lady-bird  !"  and  Juliet 
not  yet  making  her  appearance,  she  exclaims,  "  God  forbid ! — where's  this  girl  ?" 
the  words,  "  God  forbid,"  being  properly  an  ellipsis  of  "  God  forbid  that  any  acci- 
dent should  keep  her  away,"  but  used  here  merely  as  an  expression  of  impatience. 

9.  thou's]  White.  "  Thou  shalt,"  which  is  the  reading  of  nearly  every  modem 
edition,  destroys  the  rhythm,  and  is  altogether  indefensible. 

12.  fourteen]  C.  A.  Brown  {"  Autobiographical  Poems,"  &c).  Juliet's  extreme 
youth  was,  at  the  time,  an  apology  to  the  audience  for  the  boy  who  played  so  ar- 
duous a  part.  This  guess  at  explaining  the  deviation  from  the  originals  may  seem 
ridiculous,  but  it  is  possible. 

13.  teen]  Johnson.   To  my  sorrow.     {^Sing.  Coll.  Haz.  Ifuds.  ll'Tiite,  Hal. 
Stkev.    So  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen,  b.  i,  c.  ix :  "  for  dre.id  and  doleful   teen." 


ACT  I,  sc.  Hi.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  43 

She  is  not  fourteen.     How  long  is  it  now 
To  Lammas-tide  ? 

La.  Cap.  A  fortnight  and  odd  days.  1 5 

Nurse.     Even  or  odd,  of  all  days  in  the  year, 
Come  Lammas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  fourteen. 
Susan  and  she — God  rest  all  Christian  souls ! — 
Were  of  an  age :  well,  Susan  is  with  God ; 

She  was  too  good  for  me  : — but,  as  I  said,  20 

On  Lammas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  fourteen ; 
That  shall  she,  marry;  I  remember  it  well. 
'Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years ; 

14.  She  is\  Steev.  (1793).    Shees  or  16-48.     Even...' Ay ."1  Capell.    Prose 
Skee's  or  She's  QqFf.    She's  Rowe,  &c.         in  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Sta.  Ktly. 
Capell,  Sta.  16,  27.     ««]  i'  Capell. 

is  it']  is'e  Capell.  22.      ThaC]  then  Q/^j. 

This  old  word  is  introduced  by  Sh.  for  the  sake  of  the  jingle  between  teen  and  four 
and  fourteen.     \_Sing.  Huds.  Hal. 

Halliwell.  "  He  was  changed  in  the  shape  of  divers  other  things,  and  passed 
by  them  invisible ;  and  would  (no  doubt)  worke  much  woe  and  teene  in  case  he 
should  remaine  alive  after  this  scomefull  illusion." — Ammianus  Marcellinus,  trans- 
lated by  Holland,  1 609. 

15.  Lammas-tide]  Nares.  Tide  iax  time.  It  was  also  scrupulously  used  by  the 
Puritans,  in  composition,  instead  of  the  Popish  word  mass,  of  which  they  had  a  ner- 
vous abhorrence.  Thus,  they  said  ChnsX-tide,  Hallow-/wV,  Lamb-/i^<f.  Luckily 
Whitsuntide  was  rightly  named  to  their  hands. 

16.  Even]  Knt.  There  is  not  in  all  Sh.  a  passage  in  which  the  rhythm  is  more 
happily  characteristic  than  in  these  speeches  of  the  nurse.     [  Verp. 

23.  since  the  earthquake]  Tyrwhitt.  How  comes  the  Nurse  to  talk  of  an 
earthquake  ?  There  is  no  such  circumstance  mentioned  in  any  of  the  novels  from 
which  Sh.  drew  his  story;  it  therefore  seems  probable  that  he  had  in  view  the  earth- 
quake which  had  really  been  felt  in  many  parts  of  England  in  his  own  time,  viz.,  on 
the  6th  of  April,  1580.  (See  Stowe's  Chronicle  and  Gabriel  Harvey's  Letter  in  the 
Preface  to  Spenser's  Works,  ed.  1 679.)  If  so,  one  may  be  permitted  to  conjecture 
that  this  play,  or  this  part  of  it,  at  least,  was  written  in  1 59 1,  after  the  6th  of  April, 
when  the  eleven  years  since  the  earthquake  were  completed,  and  not  later  than  the 
middle  of  July,  a  fortnight  and  odd  days  before  Lammas-tide.  \^Sing.,  substantially. 
Corn. 

Mal.  (Vol.  II,  p.  350).  Sh.'s  frequent  allusions  to  the  manners  and  events  of  his 
own  time  have  shown  me  that  Tyrwhitt's  conj.  is  not  so  improbable  as  I  once 
thought  it.  Sh.  might  have  laid  the  foundation  of  this  play  in  1591  and  finished  it 
at  a  subsequent  period.  If  the  earthquake,  which  happened  in  England  in  1580, 
was  in  his  thoughts  and  induced  him  to  state  the  earthquake  at  Verona  as  happening 
on  the  day  when  Juliet  was  weaned,  and  eleven  years  before  the  commencement  of 
the  piece,  it  has  led  him  into  a  contradiction  ;  for,  according  to  the  Nurse,  Juliet  was 
wnhin  a  fortnight  and  odd  days  of  completing  her  fourteenth  year;  and  yet,  accord- 


44  RO.\fEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  iil. 

And  she  was  wean'd — I  never  shall  forget  it — 

Ot'  all  the  days  of  the  year,  upon  that  day:  25 

25.     of  tke  year\  in  the  y  tar  ^^^^,  Rowe,  &c.     o'  the  year  Capell. 

intj  to  the  computation,  she  could  not  well  be  much  more  than  twelve  years  old. 
Whether,  indeed,  the  English  earthquake  was  or  was  not  in  his  thoughts,  the  Nurse's 
account  is  inconsistent  and  contradictory.  Perhaps  Sh.  was  more  careful  to  mark 
the  garrulity  than  the  precision  of  the  old  woman ;  or  perhaps  he  meant  this  very 
incorrectness  as  a  trait  of  character ;  or,  without  having  recourse  to  either  of  these 
suppositions,  shall  we  say  that  he  was  here,  as  in  some  other  places,  hasty  and  inat- 
tentive ? 

Knt.  The  piinciple  of  dating  from  an  earthquake,  or  from  any  other  remarkable 
phenomenon,  is  a  ver)'  obvious  one.  We  have  an  example  as  old  as  the  days  of  the 
prophet  Amos :  "  The  words  of  Amos,  who  was  among  the  herdmen  of  Tekoa, 
which  he  saw  concerning  Israel,  in  the  days  of  Uzziah  king  of  Judah,  and  in  the 
days  of  Jeroboam,  the  son  of  Joash,  king  of  Israel,  two  years  before  the  earthquake." 
But  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  Sh.  might  have  been  acquainted  with  some 
description  of  the  great  earthquake  which  happened  at  Verona  in  1348,  when  Pe- 
trarch was  sojourning  in  that  city;  and  that,  with  something  like  historical  propriety, 
therefore,  he  made  the  Nurse  date  from  that  event,  while  at  the  same  time  the  sup- 
posed allusion  to  the  earthquake  in  England  in  1580  would  be  relished  by  his  au- 
dience. 

Collier  (ed.  l).  In  the  whole  speech  of  the  Nurse  there  are  such  discrepancies 
as  render  it  impossible  to  arrive  at  any  definite  conclusion,  even  if  we  suppose  that 
Sh.  intended  a  reference  to  a  particular  earthquake  in  England.  First,  the  Nurse 
tells  us  that  Juliet  was  in  the  course  of  being  weaned ;  then  that  she  could  stand 
alone;  and,  thirdly,  that  she  could  run  alone.  It  would  have  been  rather  extraordi- 
nary if  she  could  not,  for  even  according  to  the  Nurse  the  child  was  very  nearly 
three  years  old.  No  fair  inference  can,  therefore,  be  drawTi  from  the  expression, 
*nd  we  coincide  with  Malone  that  the  tragedy  was  probably  written  towards  the 
close  of  1596. 

Hunter  {"New  Ulustr").  It  will  not  be  denied  that  Sh.  might  make  an  Italian 
in  an  Italian  story  allude  to  an  event  that  occurred  in  London ;  but  the  whole  argu- 
ment is  of  the  most  shadowy  kind,  and  it  seems  to  be  entirely  destroyed  when  the 
fact  is  introduced  that  in  1570  there  did  occur  a  most  remarkable  earthquake  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Verona,  so  severe  that  it  destroyed  Ferrara,  and  which  would  form 
long  after  an  epoch  in  the  chronological  calculations  of  the  old  wives  of  Lombardy. 
NNTien  the  church  of  St.  Stephen  at  Ferrara  was  rebuilt,  an  inscription  was  placed 
against  it,  from  which  we  m.-iy  collect  the  terrible  nature  of  the  visitation : 

"Cum  anno  M.D.LXX  die  XVII  Novembris  tertiS  noclis  horS,  quam  maximus  terrae  moiar 
hanc  pneclarissimam  urbem  ita  conqua&sasset,  ut  ejus  fortissima  msnia,  munitissimas  arces,  alta  pala- 
tia,  re:i(;if»a  templa,  sacratas  turres,  omnesque  fere  «des  omnino  evertisset  el  prostrasset,  una  cum 
maximo  civium  damno,  atque  acerbS  clade." 

Tlie  order  of  towers,  palaces  and  temples  in  this  inscription  corresponds  to  the  order 
in  which  they  occur  in  the  well-known  passage  in  The  Tempest.  Will  this  come  in 
aid  of  the  argument  of  those  who  contend  that  Sh.  must,  at  some  period  of  his  life, 
have  breathed  the  air  of  Italy,  seen  the  Italian  palaces  and  witnessed  the  Italian 
customs  he  ha«  so  accurately  exhibited  ? 

TTiis  in«rrip*i)n  appea-s  \\    have  been  cut  in   1571,  or  not  long  after.     .\t  all 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  45 

For  I  had  then  laid  wormwood  to  my  dug,  26 

Sitting  in  the  sun  under  the  dove-house  wall ; 
My  lord  and  you  were  then  at  Mantua : — 
Nay,  I  do  bear  a  brain : — but,  as  I  said. 


events,  I  submit,  that,  if  we  must  suppose  that  the  poet  intended  to  make  the  Nurse 
speak  according  to  the  truth  of  history  at  all,  this  is  the  earthquake  to  which  she 
alludes,  and  not  the  slight  trembling  which  alarmed  the  fears  of  a  northern  people 
unaccustomed  to  such  phsenomena.  The  argument  of  Tyrwhitt's  has,  however,  run 
the  course  of  all  the  editions.     \^Dyce,  Sta. 

Sta.  There  is  a  small  tract  still  extant,  entitled  "A  coppie  of  the  letter  sent  from 
Ferrara  the  xxii  of  November,  1570.  Imprinted  at  London  in  Paules  Churchyarde  at 
the  signe  of  the  Lucrece,  by  Thomas  Purfoote ;"  in  which  the  writer  describes  "  the 
great  and  horrible  earthquakes,  the  excessiue  and  vnrecouerable  losses,  with  the 
greate  mortalitie  and  death  of  people,  the  ruine  and  ouerthrowe  of  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  monasteries,  pallaces,  and  other  howses,  and  the  destruction  of  his  graces  ex- 
cellencies castle."  The  first  earthquake  was  on  Thursday,  the  nth,  at  ten  at  night, 
"whiche  endured  the  space  of  an  Aue  Marie;"  on  the  17th,  "the  earth  quaked  all 
the  whole  day,"  In  all,  "  the  earthquakes  are  numbered  to  haue  been  a  hundred 
and  foure  in  xl  houres." 

Clarke.  That  Sh.  alluded  to  the  earthquake  of  1580  we  think  most  probable; 
but  that  the  allusion  particularizes  the  period  when  the  event  occurred  in  connection 
with  the  writing  of  the  play,  we  doubt.  Sh.  would  not,  we  think,  thus  register  a 
particular  so  subject  to  fluctuation  as  a  date ;  for  what  would  be  an  eleven  years' 
interval  when  he  wrote  might  become  a  twelve  years'  interv'al  when  the  play  was 
put  upon  the  stage,  and  would  certainly  become  an  altogether  inaccurate  interval  by 
the  time  the  play  had  been  performed  during  many  seasons.  It  appears  to  us  that 
the  "  eleven  years"  in  this  line  is  simply  a  step  by  which  the  old  Nurse  helps  herself 
to  retrace  the  age  of  her  foster-child. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  If  it  be  unlikely,  as  I  think  it  is,  that  our  poet  had  a  view  to  the 
earthquake  in  his  own  country  during  1580,  it  is  still  more  unlikely  that  he  should 
have  alluded  to  that  in  Italy  during  1570. 

[For  further  references  to  this  earthquake,  see  Appendix,  » The  Date  of  th« 
Play.']  Ed. 

26.  wormwood]  Halliwell.  "  Like  as  when  a  mother,  willing  to  weane  her 
child,  shall  say  unto  him,  night  and  day :  '  My  child,  it  is  time  to  weane  thee, 
thou  art  growne  great  inough,  and  I  am  with  child,  my  milke  is  corrupt,  it  will 
make  thee  sicke;'  yet  he  is  so  fond  of  the  breast  that  he  cannot  forsake  it :  but  if  the 
mother  put  worme-wood  or  mustard  upon  the  breast,  the  child  sucking  it,  and  feeling 
the  bitternesse,  he  quite  forsaketh  it,  without  sucking  any  more :  Even  so,  though 
God's  Preachers  preach  unto  us,  and  exhort  us  to  forsake  the  corrupt  milke  of  the 
world  and  of  the  flesh,  yet  we  seeme  deaf  still,  and  are  alwayes  backward,  untill 
God  put  upon  these  cursed  teates  the  mustard  and  worme-wood  of  afflictions  to 
weane  us." — Cawdray's  Treasurie  or  Storehouse  of  Swtilies,  1600.  Also  Stephen^ 
Essayes  and  Characters,  1615. 

Beisly.  Wormwood  {^Artemisia  absinthium)  is  a  well-known  plant,  native  of 
Britain,  and  flowers  in  Aug.  and  Sept.     It  has  a  nauseous,  bitter  taste. 

29.  bear  a  brain]  Reed.   That  is,  I  have  a  perfect  remembrance  or  recollection. 


46  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  iii. 

When  it  did  taste  the  wormwood  on  the  nipple  30 

V){  my  dug,  and  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  fool, 

To  see  it  tetchy,  and  fall  out  with  the  dug ! 

Shake,  quoth  the  dove-house :  'twas  no  need,  I  trow, 

To  bid  me  trudge. 

And  since  that  time  it  is  eleven  years ;  35 

For  then  she  could  stand  alone ;  nay,  by  the  rood. 

She  could  have  run  and  waddled  all  about  ; 

For  even  the  day  before,  she  broke  her  brow: 

And  then  my  husband — God  be  with  his  soul ! 

'A  was  a  merr>'  man — took  up  the  child  :  40 

'Yea,'  quoth  he,  'dost  thou  fall  upon  thy  face? 

Thou  wilt  fall  backward  when  thou  hast  more  wit ; 

Wilt  thou  not,  Jule?'  and,  by  my  holy-dam. 

The  prett>'  wretch  left  crying,  and  said  'Ay.' 

32.     U'ithi  un    Capell,  \\liite.  43.      Jule]   Jidiet  F^,  Rowe.      JuUy 

the']  tV  WVWQ.  F^Fj.     >/^rope,  &c.      %//»' Caj>ell. 

35.  elevenY  a  leuen  Q^Q-Q,-  o.  tleutn  koly-dam'\  holydam  Qq.  holy 
Fj.  dam  Har,  Camp.  Knt.     holidnme  Dyce 

36,  alom'\  hylotu  Q^.  a  lone  Q.  (ed.  l),  Cambr.  halidom  Dyce  (ed.  2). 
high-lone  Ulr.  (Dyce  from  Q,),  Cambr. 

\^Knt.  Haz.  Sta.  Dyce."]  So  in  The  Countrj'  Captain,  by  ihe  Duke  of  Newcastle 
1649:  "When  these  wordes  of  command  are  rotten,  wee  will  sow  some  other  mili- 
tary seedes ;  you  ieare  a  braine  and  memory."     \Hal. 

Steev.  In  R.am  Alley  or  Merry  Tricks,  161 1 :  "Dash,  we  must  bear  some  brain." 
In  Marston's  Dutch  Courtesan,  1604:  "  Nay  an  I  bear  not  a  brain."  In  Heywood's 
Golden  A^e,  161 1  :  "As  I  can  bear  a  pack,  so  1  can  bear  a  brain."     [Hal. 

Nares.  To  exert  attention,  ingenuity,  or  memory.  Thus  in  Marston's  Dutch 
Courtesan :  "  My  silly  husband  alas !  knows  nothing  of  it ;  'tis  I  that  beare,  'tis  I 
that  must  beare  a  braim  for  all."     \^Sing.  Ifuds. 

Halliwell.  "  Jones  was  no  schoolman,  yet  he  bore  a  brain  Which  ne'er  forgot 
what  ere  it  could  contain." — Legend  of  Captain  Jones,  1659. 

31.  felt]  White.  The  verbs  expressive  of  the  action  of  the  senses  were  not  care- 
fully distinguished  in  their  application  when  Sh.  wrote;  and  "felt"  was  used  with 
peculiar  license.  Sh.  ridicules  this  license  in  several  passages,  and  especially  in 
Bottom's  speech  (Mid.  Sum.  N.  D.  IV,  i,  197)  when  he  wakes  after  his  enchantment 

36.  alone]  Dvce  ["  Remarks"  &c.]  It  may  perhaps  be  worth  while  to  notice 
that  we  find  in  Middleton's  Blurt,  Master  Constable,  "An  old  conib-pecked  ras- 
cal, that  was  beaten  out  a'  th'  cock-pit,  when  I  could  not  stand  a^  high  lone  with- 
out I  held  by  a  thing,  to  come  crowing  among  us!"  Act  II,  sc.  ii ;  Works  i,  262, 
ed.  Dyce;  and  in  W.  Rowley's  A  Shoomaker  a  Gentleman,  163S:  "The  warres 
has  lam'd  many  of  my  old  customers ;  they  cannot  go  a  hie  lone."  Sig.  B  4.  [5»»»^. 
(cd.  2). 

Wi'Vrs.  The  idiom  is  still  in  use  in  "high  time"  for  "  full  time." 


*CT  I,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  47 

To  see  now  how  a  jest  shall  come  about !  45 

I  warrant,  an  I  should  live  a  thousand  years, 
I  never  should  forget  it:  'Wilt  thou  not,  Jule?'  quoth  he; 
And,  pretty  fool,  it  stinted,  and  said  '  Ay.' 

La.  Cap.     Enough  of  this ;  I  pray  thee,  hold  thy  peace. 

Nurse.     Yes,  madam  :  yet  I  cannot  choose  but  laugh,  50 

To  think  it  should  leave  ciying,  and  say  'Ay:' 
And  yet,  I  warrant,  it  had  upon  its  brow 
A  bump  as  big  as  a  young  cockerel's  stone ; 
A  perilous  knock  ;  and  it  cried  bitterly: 

'Yea,'  quoth  my  husband,  '  fall'st  upon  thy  face  ?  55 

Thou  wilt  fall  backward  when  thou  comest  to  age ; 
Wilt  thou  not,  Jule  ?'  it  stinted,  and  said  '  Ay.' 

yul.     And  stint  thou  too,  I  pray  thee,  nurse,  say  I. 

Nurse.     Peace,  I  have  done.    God  mark  thee  to  his  grace ! 
Thou  wast  the  prettiest  babe  that  e'er  I  nursed :  60 

An  I  might  live  to  see  thee  married  once, 
I  have  my  wish. 

4.6.     an\  Pope,     and  QqFf.  parlous  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Dyce,  Ktly. 

should^  shall  QqF,F,.  58.     stitit  thott]  stent  thee  F^.     stint 

50-57.     As  verse  first  by  Capell.  Prose,  thee  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

Sta.  Ktly.  thee,^  the  F,. 

52.     iipon'\  on  (X.  59-62.     Verse  first,  Pope.  Prose,  Ktly. 

its']  it  QqF,i;,  Cambr.  Ktly.  59.     to^  too  Q.QjQ/.. 

54.    perilous'l  patulous   Capell.   Sta.  61.     ^«]  Pope.     a«^  QqFf. 

48.  stinted]  Steev.  It  stopped,  it  forebore  from  weeping.  So  North,  in  hi» 
'Plutarch,'^  speaking  of  the  wound  which  Antony  received,  says :  "  for  the  bl&o-.l 
itinted  a  little  when  he  was  laid."  In  "  Cynthia's  Revels,"  by  Ben  Jonson  :  "Stint 
thy  babbling  tongue."  In  "What  You  Will,"  by  Marston,  1607  :  "  Pish !  for  shame, 
itint  thy  idle  chat."  Spenser  uses  this  word  frequently  in  his  Fairy  Queen.  \_Sin^. 
Coll.  Verp.  Htids.  Sta. 

Sing.  Baret  transl.ites  '  Lachrymas  supprimere,  to  stinte  weeping,'  and  '  to  stintt 
talke,'  by  '  sermones  restinguere.' 

Knt.  Thus  Gascoigne :  "  Then  stinted  she  as  if  her  song  were  done."  To  stint 
is  used  in  an  active  signification  for  to  stop.  Thus  in  those  fine  lines  in  Titus  An- 
dronicus,  which  it  is  difficult  to  believe  any  other  than  Sh   wrote : 

"  The  eagle  suffers  little  birds  to  sing. 

And  is  not  carefiil  what  they  mean  thereby, 
Knowing  that  with  the  shadow  of  his  wing 
He  can  at  pleasure  stint  their  melody.'' 

Halliwell.  "  I  stynt,  I  cesse,  je  cesse ;  let  him  go  to  it,  I  praye  God  he  never 
itynt."     Palsgrave,  1530. 

54.  perilous]  Knt    Parlous  is  a  corruption  of  the  -wori.  perilous. 


a8  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  I,  sc.  uL 

Im.  Cap.     Marry,  that  '  marry'  is  the  very  theme 
I  came  to  talk  of.     Tell  me,  daughter  Juliet, 
How  stands  your  disposition  to  be  married  ?  65 

Jul.     It  is  an  honour  that  I  dream  not  of. 

Nurse.     An  honour !  were  not  I  thine  only  nurse, 
I  would  say  thou  hadst  suck'd  wisdom  from  thy  teat. 

La.  Cap.    Well,  think  of  marriage  now;  younger  than  you 
Here  in  Verona,  ladies  of  esteem,  70 

Are  made  already  mothers.     By  my  count, 
I  was  your  mother  much  upon  these  years 
That  you  are  now  a  maid.     Thus  then  in  brief; 
The  valiant  Paris  seeks  you  for  his  love. 

Nurse.     A  man,  young  lady !  lady,  such  a  man  75 

As  all  the  world — Why,  he's  a  man  of  wax. 

63.     Marry,  that  *niarry''\  And  that  68.     I  would  say"]  I  would  say  that 

tame  marriage  Pope,  &c.  from  (Q,).  ^3^«"     ^'^  ^y  P°P^>  ^^-  Capell,  Har. 

65.  disposition]  dispositions  Qq.  Camp.  Sing.  Knt.  Corn.  Haz.  Sta.  Dyce, 

66.  // if]  '  7?'5  F.F^,  Rowe.  (ed.   2),  Ktly. 

66,  67.  honour]  Pope,  from  (Q,).  wisdom]  thy  wisdome  Q^Q.  'wis- 
houre  QqFjF^.     hour  F^F^,  Rowe,  Ca-         dom  Allen  conj.  MS. 

pell.  "J I.     mothers.     By]  mothers  by  Qq. 

67,  68.     As  verse  first  by  Pope.  72.    your]  a  Knt. 

67.     thine]  om.  Q^Qj.  75,  76.     Verse  first,  Pope.  Prose,  Ktly. 

72.  these  years]  Sta.  In  the  old  poem  Juliet's  age  is  set  down  at  sixteen ;  in 
Paynter's  novel  at  eighteen.  As  Sh.  makes  his  heroine  only  fourteen,  if  the  words 
"your  mother,"  which  is  the  reading  of  the  old  editions,  be  correct.  Lady  Capulet 
would  be  eight  and  twenty;  while  her  husband,  having  done  masking  some  thirty 
years,  must  be  at  least  threescore.  Knight  veils  the  disparity,  and  perhaps  improves 
the  passage,  but  we  believe  without  authority. 

76.  a  man  of  wax]  Steev.  So,  in  Wily  Beguiled :  "  \\Tiy,  he's  a  man  as  one 
should  picture  him  in  wax."     \_Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  Hal. 

S.  Weston.  Well  made,  as  if  he  had  been  modeled  in  wax.  \^Haz.  IVhite.]  As 
Steevens  by  a  happy  quotation  has  explained  it.  "  \Mien  you,  Lydia,  praise  the 
waxen  arms  of  Telephus"  (says  Horace)  (  Waxen,  well-shaped,  fine-turned),  &c. 
\^Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  Clarke.]  Bentley  changes  cerea  into  lactea,  little  understanding 
that  the  praise  was  given  to  the  shape,  not  to  the  colour.     [Hal. 

Sing.  [Quotes  Hor.  Od.  I,  xiii,  2,  as  above,  and  adds]  :  Which  Dacier  explains: 
'  Des  bras  faits  au  tour,  comme  nous  disons  d'un  bras  rond,  qu'il  est  comme  de  cire.' 

White,  So  in  Euphues  and  his  England:  "You  make  either  your  lover  ...  so 
exquisite  that  for  shape  he  must  be  framed  in  wax,"  1597,  Sig.  X  3;  and  see  in 
III,  iii,  126,  of  this  play.  But  the  expression  is  not  out  of  use  in  this  country;  and 
I  have  been  so  accustomed  to  hear  •  my  lad  of  wax'  addressed  as  a  phrase  of  jon; 
lar  encouragement  and  approbation  to  a  boy,  that,  had  I  not  noticed  the  Briusb 
editors'  explan'-^on  of  the  phrase,  I  should  not  have  thought  that  it  needed  one. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  49 

La.  Cap.     Verona's  summer  hath  not  such  a  flower. 

Nurse.     Nay,  he's  a  flower ;  in  faith,  a  very  flower. 

La.  Cap.     What  say  you  ?  can  you  love  the  gentleman  ? 


Dyce.  In  some  of  the  provinces,  a  7nan  of  wax  means  now-a-days  "  a  smart, 
cleverish  fellow;"  vide  Moor's  Suffolk  Words  and  The  Dialect  of  Craven;  but 
assuredly  Sh.  does  not  employ  the  expression  in  that  sense.  [In  a  note  on  a  sea  of 
wix  [T.  of  A.,  I,  i,  50],  Dyce  has  the  following]  :  Dr.  Ingleby  has  put  forth  a 
brochure  :  The  Still  Lion,  &c..  Being  part  of  the  Shakespeare-jahrbuch,  ii,  wherein 
he  gives,  with  astonishing  confidence,  entirely  new  glosses  of  "  a  sea  of  wax'*  and 
"a  man  of  wax" — his  attempt  to  show  that  Sh.  employs  a  substantive  "  wax"  in 
the  sense  of  "  expandedness  or  growth"  vying  in  absurdity  with  any  of  the  misinter- 
pretations that  ignorance  and  conceit  have  ever  tried  to  force  upon  the  great  dram- 
atist. [Dr.  Ingleby  says]  :  •"  A  man  of  wax"  is  a  man  of  full  growth.  Of  Falstaff 
[2  Hen.  IV:  I,  ii,  149]  it  would  mean  a  man  of  ample  dimensions;  of  Romeo  it 
means  a  man  of  puberty,  "  a  proper  man."  '  It  seems  inconceivable  that  Dr.  Ingleby 
should  have  so  grossly  misunderstood  these  words  in  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

I  add  a  passage  which  is  decisive  as  to  the  true  meaning  of  "a  man  of  wax :" 

"  A  sweet  face,  an  exceeding  daintie  hand  ; 
A  body,  were  it  framed  of  wax 
By  all  tlie  cunning  artists  of  the  world. 
It  could  not  better  be  proportioned." — Faire  Ent.,  &c.,  sig.  B.  ed.  1631 

79.  What  say  you]  [This  speech  Pope  pronounces  "  ridiculous,"  and  Steev. 
"stuff."     Sing,  repeated  Steevens's  epithet  in  (ed.  i),  but  recalled  it  in  (ed.  2)]. 

Knight.  This  passage  furnishes  a  very  remarkable  example  of  the  correctness  of 
the  principle  laid  down  in  Winter's  very  able  tract :  "  An  Attempt  to  explain  and 
illustrate  various  Passages  of  Sh.  on  a  new  Principle  of  Criticism,  derived  from 
Locke's  Doctrine  of  the  Association  of  Ideas,"  wherein  the  leading  doctrine,  as  ap- 
plied to  Sh.,  is,  that  the  exceeding  warmth  of  his  imagination  often  supplied  him, 
by  the  power  of  association,  with  words,  and  with  ideas,  suggested  to  the  mind  by  a 
principle  of  union  unperceived  by  himself,  and  independent  of  the  subject  to  which 
they  are  apolied.  We  readily  agree  with  \Vhiter  that  "  this  propensity  in  the  mind 
to  associate  subjects  so  remote  in  their  meaning,  and  so  heterogeneous  in  their 
nature,  must,  of  necessity,  sometimes  deceive  the  ardour  of  the  writer  into  whimsical 
or  ridiculous  combinations.  As  the  reader,  however,  is  not  blinded  by  this  fascinat- 
ing principle,  which,  while  it  creates  the  association,  conceals  likewise  its  effects, 
he  is  instantly  impressed  with  the  quaintness,  or  the  absurdity,  of  the  imagery,  and 
is  inclined  to  charge  the  writer  with  the  intention  of  a  foolish  quibble  or  an  imperti- 
nent allusion."  It  is  in  this  spirit  of  a  cold  and  literal  criticism,  here  so  well  de- 
scribed, that  Monck  Mason  pronounces  upon  the  passage  before  us, — "  this  ridiculous 
speech  is  full  of  abstruse  quibbles."  But  the  principle  of  association,  as  explained 
by  Whiter,  at  once  reconciles  us  to  the  quibbles.  The  "  volume"  of  young  Paries 
face  suggests  the  "  beauty's  pen,"  which  hath  "writ"  there.  Then,  the  obscurities  of 
the  fair  "  volume"  are  written  in  the  "  margin  of  his  eyes,"  as  comments  of  ancient 
books  are  always  printed  in  the  margin.  Lastly,  this  "book  of  love"  lacks  "a 
cover;"  the  "  golden  story"  must  be  locked  with  "  golden  clasps."  The  ingenious 
management  of  the  vein  of  imagery  is,  at  least,  as  remarkable  as  its  "abstiu.se 
quibbles." 

^  D 


50  ROMEO   Aa\D   JULIET.  Tact  i.  sc.  iii 

This  night  you  shall  behold  him  at  our  feast :  5o 

Read  o'er  the  volume  of  young  Paris'  face, 

And  find  delight  writ  there  with  beauty's  pen ; 

Examine  every  married  lineament, 

And  see  how  one  another  lends  content ; 

And  what  obscured  in  this  fair  volume  lies  85 

Find  written  in  the  margent  of  his  eyes. 

S3,     tnarrifd']  Q^.  sci'erall  The  rest,  85.     ohscured'\    obscure    Allen    Ms. 

Rowe,   Theob.    Warb.    Johns.    Capell,         conj. 

Camp.  Knt.  Del.  \Miite.  86.     w/ar^^-w/]  wflrj^;«  Var.  Km.  Coll. 

Sing.  Huds.  Ulr.  Del.  Clarke,  Hal.  Ktly. 

S3,  married  lineament]  Steev.  Examine  how  nicely  one  feature  depends 
npon  another,  or  accords  with  another,  in  order  to  produce  that  harmony  of  the 
whole  face  which  seems  to  be  implied  in  the  word  content.  In  Tro.  and  Cress,  we 
have  "  the  married  calm  of  states,"  and  in  the  8th  Sonnet  the  .same  allusion : 

"  If  the  true  concord  of  well-tuned  sounds. 
By  unions  marrieiL,  do  offend  thine  ear." — [Sing:  (ed.  i),  Huds. 

Ulr.  In  my  opinion,  the  prosaic  several  would  be  decidedly  preferable  to  ttic 
hj-per-poetical  and  far-fetched  "married''^  (especially  as  the  thought  that  the  features 
were  in  harmony  is  distinctly  expressed  in  the  next  verse),  if  the  whole  speech  of 
Lady  Capulet  were  not  so  full  of  plays  upon  words  and  strained  comparisons.  That 
Sh.  puts  in  the  mouth  of  Juliet's  mother  such,  so  called.  Euphuisms  is  certainly  not 
without  a  deep  design.  She  is  distinguished  by  the  style  and  matter  of  her  speech 
as  a  highly  cultivated,  but  in  truth  an  artificial,  woman  of  the  world  of  that  day,  of 
considerable  address,  but  without  feeling,  without  heart  or  soul,  who  thinks  more 
of  fashionable  elegance  of  manners,  social  advantage,  &c.,  than  of  true  inner  worth, 
and  is,  therefore,  more  devoted  to  the  world  than  to  the  care  and  education  of  hei 
daughter. 

Del.  The  epithet,  "  married"  anticipates  too  forcibly  the  succeeding  line.  The 
blending  together,  emphasized  in  the  succeeding  verse,  stands  in  more  marked  con- 
trast by  the  use  of  "  several"  than  by  the  use  of  "  married." 

86.  margent]  Steev.  The  comments  on  ancient  books  were  always  printed  in 
the  margin.  So  Horatio,  in  Hamlet,  says:  "I  knew  you  must  be  edified  by  thr 
margent"  &c.     \^Sing.  Haz.  Huds. 

Mal.    So  in  the  Rape  of  Lucrece  : 

"But  she  that  never  cop'd  with  stranger  eyes 

Could  pick  DO  meaning  from  their  parling  looks, 
Nor  read  the  subtle  shining  secrecies 
Writ  in  the  glassy  margent  of  such  hooks." — [Sing.  Huds.  Sta. 

STA.  Sh.  was  evidently  fond  of  resembling  the  face  to  a  book,  and  having  once 
arrived  at  this  similitude,  the  comparison,  however  odd,  of  the  eyes  to  the  margin 
wheiein  of  old  the  commentary  on  the  text  was  printed  is  not  altogether  unnatural. 
This  passage,  which  presenu  both  the  primary  and  subordinate  metaphor,  is  the  best 
eiamplc  he  has  given  of  this  peculiar  association  of  ideas. 


ACTi,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  5 1 

This  precious  book  of  love,  this  unbound  lover, 

To  beautify  him,  only  lacks  a  cover : 

The  fish  lives  in  the  sea ;  and  'tis  much  pride 

For  fair  without  the  fair  within  to  hide :  90 

That  book  in  many's  eyes  doth  share  the  glory, 

That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story : 

So  shall  you  share  all  that  he  doth  possess, 

By  having  him  making  yourself  no  less. 

Nurse.     No  less  !  nay,  bigger :  women  grow  by  men.  91; 

La.  Cap.     Speak  briefly,  can  you  like  of  Paris'  love  ? 

Jill.     I'll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move : 
But  no  more  deep  will  I  endart  mine  eye 
Than  your  consent  gives  strength  to  make  it  fly.  99 

89.  :ea\  shell  Rann.  (Mason  conj).  95.     bigger :  7uomen\  Ff.    bigger  ivo- 

90.  fair  -within^  faire,  within  Q^,         7nen  Qq,  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Camp.  98.     endart'\  ingage  Pope  from  (Q,). 

91.  marys\  many  Q  .  99.     zV]  om.  Q^QjFj. 

88.  cover]  M.  Mason.  This  ridiculous  speech  is  full  of  abstruse  quibbles.  The 
unbound  lover  is  a  quibble  on  the  binding  of  a  book,  and  the  binding  in  marriage ; 
and  the  word  .over  is  a  quibble  on  the  law  phrase  for  a  married  woman,  who  is 
»tyled  a  feme  covert '\v\.  law-French.     \^Sing.  and  Huds.  (omit  "  ridiculous.") 

89.  the  sea]  Steev.  That  is,  is  not  yet  caught.  Fish-skin  covers  to  ["devo- 
tional," Sittg.  (ed.  2)]  books  were  not  uncommon.  Such  is  Farmer's  explanation. 
\Sing.  Coll.  Haz.  Verp.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

The  poet  may  mean  nothing  more  than  that  those  books  are  most  esteemed  by  the 
world  whose  valuable  contents  are  embellished  by  as  valuable  binding.  \^Sing. 
(ed.  i). 

M.  Mason.  The  purport  of  the  remainder  of  this  speech  is  to  show  the  advantage 
of  having  a  handsome  person  to  cover  a  virtuous  mind.  It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  instead  of  "  the  fish  lives  in  the  sea"  we  should  read  "  in  the  shell."  For  the 
sea  cannot  be  said  to  be  a  beautiful  cover  to  a  fish,  though  a  shell  may.  \_Sing. 
(ed.  i),  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Huds.  It  does  not  well  appear  what  this  meaning  of  Farmer's  can  have  to  do 
with  the  context.  The  sense  apparently  required  is,  that  the  fish  is  hidden  within 
the  sea,  as  a  thing  of  beauty  within  a  beautiful  thing. 

Clarke.  The  speaker  means  to  say,  the  fish  is  not  yet  caught  which  is  to  supply 
*his  "  cover,"  or  '  coverture.'  The  bride  who  is  to  be  bound  in  marriage  with  Paris 
has  not  yet  been  won. 

Cham.  The  whole  of  the  speech  seems  to  merit  the  epithet  applied  to  it  by  Pope 
— ridiculous. 

92.  the  golden  story]  M.  Mason.  I  believe  no  particular  legend  is  meant,  but 
any  valuable  writing.     \_-Dyce  (ed.  2). 

98.  endart]  Del.  A  word  nowhere  else  used  by  Sh.,  and  perhaps  invented  by 
him  in  this  place. 


52  ROAfEO   A. YD    JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  iv 

Enter  a  Sen'int;Tnan. 

Sen'.  Madam,  the  guests  are  come,  supper  scrv^ed  up,  you 
called,  my  young  lady  asked  for,  the  nurse  cursed  in  the  pantry, 
and  ever}''  thing  in  extremity.  I  must  hence  to  wait ;  I  beseech 
you,  follow  straight. 

La.  Cap.  We  follow  thee.  \Exit  Servmginan.'] — Juliet,  the 
County  stays. 

Nurse.     Go,  girl,  seek  happy  nights  to  happy  days.      [^Exeicnt 


Scene  IV.     A  street. 

Enter  RoMEO,  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  with  five  or  six  Maskers,  Torch-bearen>, 

and  others. 

Ro7n.     What,  shall  this  speech  be  spoke  for  our  excuse  ? 
Or  shall  we  on  without  apology? 

104.     straight's  om.  Pope,  Han.  Maskers,]  Maskers,  and  Sta.  Cambr. 

[Exit    Servingman.]     Exit.    Ff,  and   others.]    Steev.     ...and    drums, 

after  line  103.     cm.  Qq,  Theob.  om.  Ulr.  Sta.  Cambr. 

Scene  iv.]   Steev.     Scene  v.  Pope.  I.     Rom.]  Ben.  Capell.  conj. 

Act  n.  Scene  I.  Capell.  What,....this'\    What....the    Ed. 

A  street.]  Capell.     A  street  be-  conj. 
fore  Capulet's  house.  Theob. 

loi.  nurse  cursed]  Del.    Because  she  is  not  at  hand  to  help. 

Enter  Mercutio]  Coleridge.  {Lit.  Rem.,vo\.\\,-^.  153,  ed.  1836.)  Oh!  how 
shall  I  describe  that  exquisite  ebullience  and  overflow  of  youthful  life,  wafted  on 
over  the  laughing  waves  of  pleasure  and  prosperity,  as  a  wanton  beauty  distorts  the 
face  on  which  she  knows  her  lover  is  gazing  enraptured,  and  wrinkles  her  forehead 
m  the  triumph  of  its  smoothness !  Wit  ever  wakeful,  fancy  busy  and  procreative  as 
an  insect,  courage ;  an  easy  mind  that,  without  cares  of  its  own,  is  at  once  disposed 
to  laugh  away  those  of  others,  and  yet  to  be  interested  in  them, — these  and  all  con 
genial  qualities  melting  into  the  common  copula  of  them  all,  the  man  of  rank  and 
'he  gentleman,  with  all  its  excellences  and  all  its  weaknesses,  constitute  the  charac- 
ter of  Mercutio !     [  Verp.  Huds.  Sta. 

Steev.  'An  other  gentleman  called  Mercutio,  which  was  a  courtlyke  gentleman, 
very  well  be  loved  of  all  men,  and  by  reason  of  his  pleasaunt  and  curteous  behavior 
•»as  in  every  company  wel  intertayned.'    Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure.     {^Sing. 

Malone.   He  is  thus  described  in  the  poem  which  Sh.  followed : 

'  At  thotie  side  of  her  chayre  her  lover  Romeo, 
And  on  the  other  syde  there  sat  one  cald  Mercutio , 
A  courtier  that  eche  where  was  highly  had  in  pryce, 
For  he  was  coortious  of  his  speche  and  pleasant  of  devise. 
Even  as  a  lyon  would  emong  the  lambes  be  bolde. 
Such  was  emong  the  bashfull  maydes  Mercutio  to  beholde. 


KCT  I,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  53 

Ben.     The  date  is  out  of  such  prolixity. 
We'll  have  no  Cupid  hoodwink'd  with  a  scarf, 
Bearing  a  Tartar's  painted  bow  of  lath,  5 

Scaring  the  ladies  like  a  crow-keeper ; 

3.     Ben.]  Mer.  Capell.  conj.  6.     crow-keeper]     cow-keeper     Pcpe, 

(ed.  2)  (Theob.  conj.  withdrawn). 

With  frendly  gripe  he  ceasd  fayre  Juliets  snowish  hand  ; 

A  gyft  he  had  that  Nature  gave  him  in  his  swathing  band, 

That  trosen  mountayne  yse  was  never  hahe  so  cold, 

A»  were  his  haDdes,  though  nere  so  neer  the  fire  he  did  them  holde." 

[Sing.  Corn.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  last  circumstance  which  induced  Sh.  to  represent  Mercutio  as 
little  sensible  to  the  passion  of  love,  and  "a  jester  at  wounds  he  never  felt. ^^  See 
Othello  III,  iv,  39.     \_Sing. 

and  others]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  One  of  the  "others"  was  furnished  with  a  drum,  as 
we  learn  from  the  (MS.).  This  is  material,  according  to  the  last  words  of  Benvolio 
in  this  scene. 

3.  such  prolixity]  Warburton.  That  is,  masks  are  now  out  of  fashion.  That 
Sh.  was  an  enemy  to  these  fooleries,  appears  from  his  writing  none;  and  that  his 
plays  discredited  them  is  more  than  probable.     [Hal. 

Steev.  The  diversion  going  forward  at  present  is  not  a  masque  but  a  masquerade. 
In  Henry  VIII,  when  the  king  introduces  himself  to  the  entertainment  given  by 
VVolsey,  he  appears,  like  Romeo  and  his  companions,  in  a  mask,  and  sends  a  mes- 
senger before  to  make  an  apology  for  his  intrusion.  This  was  a  custom  observed  by 
those  who  came  uninvited,  with  a  desire  to  conceal  themselves  for  the  sake  of 
intrigue,  or  to  enjoy  the  greater  freedom  of  conversation.  Their  entry  on  these 
occasions  was  always  prefaced  by  some  speech  in  praise  of  the  beauty  of  the  ladies 
or  the  generosity  of  the  entertainer ;  and  to  the  prolixity  of  such  introductions  allu- 
sion is  here  made.  So  in  Histriomastix,  1610,  a  man  wonders  that  the  7naskers  come 
in  "so  blunt,  without  device?"  Of  the  same  kind  of  masquerading  see  a  specimen 
in  Timon  I,  ii,  where  Cupid  precedes  a  troop  of  ladies  with  a  speech.  \^Sing.  Huds. 
Sta,  (subs.)  Hal. 

Percy.  Sh.  has  written  a  masque  in  Act  IV  of  The  Tempest.  It  would  have 
been  difficult  for  Warburton  to  prove  they  v/ere  discontinued  during  any  period  of 
Sh.'s  life.     IHal. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Sh.  ridicules  a  formal  prolix  introduction,  such  as  that  in  Love's 
L.  L.  V,  ii,  158. 

5.  bow  of  lath]  Douce.  The  Tartarian  bows,  as  well  as  most  of  those  used  by 
the  Asiatic  nations,  resembled  in  their  form  the  old  Roman  or  Cupid's  bow,  such  as  we 
see  on  medals  and  bas-reliefs.  Sh.  used  the  epithet  to  distinguish  it  from  the  Eng- 
lish bow,  whose  shape  is  the  segment  of  a  circle.      [Sing.  Kttt.  Verp.  Huds.  Hal. 

6.  crow-keeper]   Steev.   [Note  on  Lear  IV,  vi,  88].     So  in  the  48th  Idea  of 

Drayton  : 

"  And  when  corn's  sown,  or  grown  into  the  ear, 
Practise  thy  quiver  and  turn  crow-keeper.''^     \_Nares,  Sing. 

Nares.  A'  present,  in  all  the  midland  counties,  a  boy  set  to  drive  the  birds  away 
13  said  to  keep  birds.     Hence  a  stuffed  figure,  now  called  more  properly  a  %care- 
CT'OZv,  was  also  called  a  crow-keeper.     In  this  passage  a  scarecrow  is  clearly  meant. 
5 


54  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  iv. 

Nor  no  v/ithout-book  prologue,  faintly  spoke 

After  the  prompter,  for  our  entrance : 

But.  let  them  measure  us  by  what  they  will, 

We'll  measure  them  a  measure,  and  be  gone.  lo 

7,8.     iVor  «<j...«»/ra««.-]  Pope  from  8.    /o/]  yir^  Han, 

^Q,).     Om.  QqFf,  Rowe,  Capell.  entrance\  enUrance  Pope,  Han. 

7.     Kor  no\  Nora  Pope,  &c.  Ktly. 

Knt.  The  "  crow-keeper"  who  scares  the  ladies  had  also  a  bow  :  he  is  the  shuffle 
r-x  mawkin — the  scarecrow  of  rags  and  straw,  with  an  arrow  in  his  hand.     [  Verp. 

Dyce.  See  Forby's  Vocab.  of  East  Auglia. 

White.  A  living  functionary,  for  whom  the  scarecrow  of  this  country  is  a  luxuri- 
ously-clad substitute. 

7.  without-book  prologue]  Knt.  Supposed  by  Warton  lo  allude  to  the  boy- 
actors  so  fully  alluded  to  in  Hamlet.     [  Verp. 

Ulr.  I  should  not  admit  into  the  text  these  two  lines,  found  only  in  (Q,),  and 
stricken  out  afterwards,  probably  by  Sh.  himself,  were  not  the  printing  of  the  later 
eds.  so  very  careless  that  a  couple  of  lines  might  easily  have  fallen  out,  and  did  they 
not  at  the  same  lime  refer  to  a  custom  which  certainly  excited  Sh.'s  displeasure,  and 
consequently  might  have  induced  him  to  intercalate  these  two  verses.  .  .  ,  "Without- 
book  prologue"  is  doubtless  to  be  taken  as  one  word,  and  it  signifies  a  prologue  not 
in  the  book — that  is,  not  composed  by  the  poet,  but  added  probably  by  the  manager 
or  some  writer  for  the  theatre,  and  consequently  was  in  bad  verses  and  spoken  after 
the  prompter  in  a  weak,  mechanical  way.  That  it  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  pro- 
logues and  epilogues  to  be  prepared  by  others  than  the  authors  is  evident  from 
several  passages  in  Henslow's  Diary  (edited  by  J.  P.  Collier,  Lond.  1845,  p.  228, 
229J.  Kor  this  same  reason  I  believe  that  the  prologue  to  our  tragedy  also  was  not 
composed  by  Sh. 

White.  These  two  lines  seem  to  have  been  purposely  omitted  after  (Qj),but  only 
on  account  of  their  disparagement  of  the  prologue  speakers  on  the  stage ;  and  they 
m-iy  therefore  properly  be  restored  to  the  text. 

Del.  [doubts  the  propriety  of  restoring  them]. 

8.  entrance]  Mal,  Here  used  as  a  trisyllable.  \_Sta.  Del.  (as  in  Macb.  I,  v, 
40),  White. 

10.  measure]  Knt.  This  was  the  courtly  dance  of  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  not 
*o  solemn  as  the  pavan — the  "  doleful  pavan,"  as  Davenant  calls  it, — in  which  princes 
in  their  mantles  and  law7ers  in  their  long  robes,  and  courtly  dames  with  enormous 
trains,  swept  the  rushes  like  the  tails  of  peacocks.  From  this  circumstance  came  its 
name,  the  pavan — the  dance  of  the  peacock.  For  a  description  of  the  "  measure," 
see  "  Much  Ado,"  II,  i,  72.     [//a/. 

Sta.  a  measure  seems  originally  to  have  meant  any  dance  the  motions  of  which 
kept  due  time  to  music  :  "  And  dancing  is  a  moving  all  in  measure."  ( Orchestra,  by 
Sir  John  Davies,  1622.)  In  time,  however,  it  obtained  a  more  precise  signification, 
and  was  used  to  denote  a  movement  slow,  stately,  and  sweeping,  like  the  modern 
minuet,  which  appears  to  be  its  legitimate  successor. 

TTie  measures,  Reed  tells  us,  *  were  performed  at  court,  and  at  public  entertain- 
ments of  the  societies  of  Law  and  Equity  at  their  halls,  on  particular  occasions.  It 
Ki'  not  deemed  inconsistent  with  propriety,  even  for  the  gravest  persons  to  join  in 


ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  55 

Rom.     Give  me  a  torch ;  I  am  not  for  this  ambling ; 
Being  but  heavy,  I  will  bear  the  light. 

them  ;  and  accordingly  at  the  revels  which  were  celebrated  at  the  Inns  of  Court,  it 
has  not  been  unusual  for  the  first  characters  in  the  law  to  become  performers  in 
treading  the  measures.*  In  •  Riche  his  Farewell  to  Militarie  Profession,'  Lond. 
1 58 1,  there  is  a  description  of  the  Measure  and  other  popular  dances  of  the  period  too 
amusing  to  be  omitted :  '  Firste  for  dauncyng,  although  I  like  the  measures  verie 
well,  yei  I  could  never  treade  them  aright,  nor  to  use  measure  in  any  thyng  that  I 
went  aboute,  although  I  desired  to  performe  all  thynges  by  line  and  by  leavell,  what 
so  ever  I  tooke  in  hande.  Our  galliardes  are  so  curious,  that  thei  are  not  for  my 
daunsyng,  for  thei  are  so  full  of  trickes  and  tournes,  that  he  which  hath  no  more 
but  the  plaine  sinquepace  is  no  better  accoumpted  of  then  a  verie  bongler ;  and  for 
my  part  thei  might  assone  teache  me  to  make  a  capricomus,  as  a  capre  in  the  right 
kinde  that  it  should  bee.  For  a  jeigge  my  heeles  are  too  heavie :  and  these  braules 
are  so  busie,  that  I  love  not  to  beate  my  braines  about  them.  A  rounde  is  too  giddie 
a  daunce  for  my  diet ;  for  let  the  dauncers  runne  about  with  as  much  speede  as  thei 
male,  yet  are  thei  never  a  whit  the  nier  to  the  ende  of  their  course,  unlesse  with 
often  tourning  thei  hap  to  catch  a  fall ;  and  so  thei  ende  the  daunce  with  shame,  that 
was  begonne  but  in  sporte.  These  komepipes  I  have  hated  from  my  verie  youth ; 
and  I  knowe  there  are  many  other  that  love  them  as  well  as  I.  Thus  you  may  per- 
ceive that  there  is  no  daunce  but  either  I  like  not  of  theim,  or  thei  like  not  of  me, 
so  that  I  can  daunce  neither.' 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  See  Dugdale's  Origines  Judiciales.  Sir  John  Davies  in  his  poem 
called  Orchestra,  1 622,  describes  them  in  this  manner: 

'  But  after  these,  as  men  more  civil  grew, 

He  \i.  e.  Love]  did  vnox^  grave  and  solemn  measures  framt; 
With  such  fair  order  and  proportion  true, 
And  correspondence  every  way  the  same, 
That  no  fault-finding  eye  did  ever  blame. 
For  every  eye  was  movfed  at  the  sight, 
With  sober  wond'ring  and  with  sweet  delight. 

'  Not  those  young  students  of  the  heavenly  book, 

Atlas  the  great,  Prometheus  the  wise. 
Which  on  the  stars  did  all  their  life-time  look, 

Could  ever  find  such  measure  in  the  skies. 

So  full  of  change  and  rare  varieties  ; 
Yet  all  the  feet  whereon  these  measures  go. 
Are  only  spondees,  solemn,  grave,  and  slow.' 

II.  a  torch]  Steev.  See  Westward  Hoe,  by  Decker  and  Webster,  1607  :  *  He  is 
just  like  a  torch-bearer  to  maskers :  he  wears  good  cloaths,  and  is  ranked  in  good 
company,  but  he  doth  nothing.'  \^Corn.  Coll.  Verp.  Sta.  Dyce.'\  A  torch-bearer 
seems  to  have  been  a  constant  appendage  on  every  troop  of  masks.  \^£ing.  Haz, 
Huds.  Sta.'\  Before  the  invention  of  chandeliers,  all  rooms  of  state  were  illumi- 
nated by  flambeaux,  which  attendants  held  upright  in  their  hands.  This  service 
rtras  no  degrading  office.  Queen  Elizabeth's  Gentlemen-Pensioners  attended  her  to 
Cambridge,  and  held  torches  while  a  play  was  acted  before  her  in  the  Chapel  of 
King's  College,  on  a  Sunday  evening.     \_Sing.  Knt.  Corn.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal. 

Mal.  King  Henry  VIII,  when  he  went  masked  to  Wolsey's  palace  (now  Wliite 
hall),  had  sixteen  torch -bearers.     \^Corn. 


56  ROMEO   AXD    JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  i» 

Mc".     Nay,  gentle  Romeo,  we  must  have  you  dance. 

Rom.     Not  I,  believe  me.     You  have  dancing  shoes 
^Vith  nimble  soles  ;  I  have  a  soul  of  lead  1 5 

So  stikes  me  to  the  ground,  I  cannot  move. 

Mcr.     You  are  a  lover ;  borrow  Cupid's  wings, 
And  soar  with  them  above  a  common  bound. 

Rovi.     I  am  too  sore  enpierced  with  his  shaft 
To  soar  with  his  light  feathers,  and,  so  bound,  20 

I  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe. 
Under  love's  heavy  burthen  do  I  sink. 

13.     Mer.]  Ben.  Capell  conj.  ^-^x    i»'/'^^*''-'^^  ^^^  Rowe.    empierced 

15.     soul^  soule  Qq.    soale  F,.    sole  S.  Walker  conj. 
F  F  F  ,  Rowe.  20.     so  bound,']  to  bound :  F,F^.  Kowe, 

19.     enpierced"]      enpearced     QqF,,  Knt.  (ed.  i),  Del.    to  bond:  F^^F^.    se 

Theob.Warb.  Johns.  Capell.    impearced  bound.  (^^. 

Douce.  Froissart,  describing  a  dinner  on  Christmas-day  in  the  castle  of  Gaston, 
Earl  of  Foix,  in  1388,  says:  '  At  mydnyght  when  he  came  out  of  his  chambre  into 
the  halle  to  supper,  he  had  ever  before  hym  twelve  torches  brennyng,  borne  by  t-^'elvt 
varieties  standyng  before  his  table  all  supper.'  [A'«/.]  In  Rankin's  Mirrotir  of 
monsters,  1587,410,  is  the  following  passage:  'This  maske  thus  ended,  w)th  vis- 
ardes  accordingly  appointed,  there  were  certain  petty  fellows  ready,  as  the  cusiome 
is,  in  maskes  to  carry  torches,  &c.'  In  the  Weiss  kunig,  a  collection  of  wood 
engravings  representing  the  actions  of  Max.  the  First,  there  is  a  very  curious  ex- 
hibition of  a  masque,  in  which  the  performers  appear  with  visards,  and  one  of  them 
holds  a  torch.     There  is  another  print  on  the  same  subject  by  Albert  Durer. 

Dyce.  It  would  seem  that  no  masque  (at  least  if  performed  by  night)  was  com- 
plete without  torch-bearers. 

15.  soul]  Df.l.    See  Jul.  Cres.  I,  i,  15. 

19.  enpierced]  S.  Walker  ('CnV.'  vol.  iii,  p.  223).  This  is  merely  an  erratum 
of  the  folio  (and  I  suppose  also  of  the  other  old  copies)  for  empierced.     Draj'ton, 

Moses,  B.  i,  ed.  1630,  p.  139:  ' those  secret  and  impiercing  flames.'     Spenser, 

Colin  Clout,  1.  430 :  •  th.it  Muse  of  his  That  can  empierce  a  prince's  mighty  heart 
Thus,  in  the  Hamlet  of  1603,  C,  p.  2,  '  My  necessaries  are  inbarkt.^ 

Dyce  (ed.  2).    Walker  treats  this  as  an  erratum.     Why? 

20.  so  bound]  Del.  [Z<fx/V(?«,  p.  164].  The  Folio  rightly  connects  the  infinitives 
to  soar  and  to  bound,  as  a  quibbling  repetition  of  the  verse  :  And  soar  above  them 
with  a  common  bound.  Bound  as  a  participle  of  bind  cannot  be  related  to  anything 
preceding;  Romeo  has  merely  said  that  he  was  wounded  by  Cupid's  arrow,  and  by 
»uch  a  wound  he  cannot,  in  any  sense,  be  said  to  be  bound. 

21.  bound]  Steev.  Let  Milton's  example,  on  this  occasion,  keep  Sh.  in  coun- 
tenance ; 

' in  contempt 

At  one  slight  hound  high  over-leap'd  all  bound 

Of  hill,   tiC— Paradise  Lost,  book  iv,  1.  180.     [Sin^  Hudt 


ACT  I,  sc.  IV.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  57 

Mcr.     And,  to  sink  in  it,  should  you  burthen  love ; 
Too  great  oppression  for  a  tender  thing. 

Rom.     Is  love  a  tender  thing  ?  it  is  too  rough,  25 

Too  rude,  too  boisterous,  and  it  pricks  like  thorn. 

j^Icr.     If  love  be  rough  with  you,  be  rough  with  love ; 
Prick  love  for  pricking,  and  you  beat  love  down. 
Give  me  a  case  to  put  my  visage  in  :  \Putting  on  a  mask. 

A  visor  for  a  visor !  what  care  I  30 

What  curious  eye  doth  quote  deformities  ? 
Here  are  the  beetle-brows  shall  blush  for  me. 

Ben.     Come,  knock  and  enter,  and  no  sooner  in 
But  every  man  betake  him  to  his  legs. 

Rovi.     A  torch  for  me  :  let  wantons  light  of  heart  35 

Tickle  the  senseless  rushes  with  their  heels ; 

23.     Mer.]  Mercu.  Q^.     Horatio.  Q^  Putting.. .mask]    Johns.     Pulling 

Qj.    Hora.  Ff.  off  his  mask.  Theob.     taking  one  from 

should  you'\  you  should  Capell  an  Att.  Capell.    om.  QqFf,  Dyce  (ed.  i), 

conj.  Cambr. 

love ;'\  love?  Steev.  1773  (Heath  30.     z/wor.']  fw<>r.' [throwing  it  away, 

conj.).  Capell. 

26.     and^  om.  F^F^,  Rowt.  31.     quote^  coate  (Q,).    ccte  Q^. 

28.  beat  love"]  love  beat  Rowe.  34.     betakel  betakes  Q  . 

29.  iti  .•]  in  ?  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

31.  quote]  Steev.  That  is,  to  observe.  So  in  Hamlet,  II,  i,  112.  \^Sing.  Knt. 
Huds.  White. 

35.  wantons]  Steev.  Middleton  has  borrowed  this  thought  in  his  Blurt  Master- 
Constable,  1602 : 

' bid  him,  whose  heart  no  sorrow  feels, 

Tickle  the  rushes  with  his  wanton  heels, 
I  have  too  much  lead  at  mine.'    \_Sing. 

36.  rushes]  Steev.  It  was  the  custom  to  strew  rooms  with  rushes,  before  carpets 
were  in  use.  See  I  Hen.  IV:  III,  i.  \^Sing.  Coll.  Haz.  Verp.  Huds.  Cham.']  So 
Hentzner,  in  his  Itinerary,  speaking  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  presence-chamber  at 
Greenwich,  says :  •  The  floor,  after  the  English  fashion,  was  strev/ed  with  hay,' 
mtz.mx\g  r7ishes.  \_Knt.']  So  in  The  Dumb  Knight,  1633:  'Thou  dancest  on  my 
heart,  lascivious  queen,  Even  as  upon  these  rttshes  which  thou  treadest.'     The  stage 

was  anciently  strewn  with  rushes.     In  Decker's  Gul's  Hornbook,  1609:  ' on 

the  very  rushes  when  the  comedy  is  to  daunce.'     \_Sirtg.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal. 

Mal.  Sh.,  it  has  been  observed,  gives  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  own  time 
to  all  ages  and  countries.  It  is  certainly  true,  but  let  it  always  be  remembered  that 
his  contemporaries  offended  against  propriety  in  the  same  manner.  Thus,  Marlowe, 
m  his  Hero  and  Leander :  '  She,  fearing  on  the  rushes  to  be  flung,  Striv'd  with  re- 
doubled strength.'     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Knt.  The  impurities  which  gathered  on  the  floor  were  easily  removed  with  the 
rashes.  But  the  custom  of  strewing  rushes,  although  very  general  in  England,  was 
t;«t  peculiar  to  it.     Brown  {'Auto-Hographical  Poem:,'  p.  loS)  5a3/s ;  'An  objection 


58  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc  l» 

For  I  am  proverb'd  with  a  grandsire  phrase : 

I'll  be  a  candle-holder,  and  look  on. 

The  game  was  ne'er  so  fair,  and  I  am  done. 

Mcr.  Tut,  dun's  the  mouse,  the  constable's  own  word :  40 
If  thou  art  Dun,  we'll  draw  thee  from  the  mire 

3S.     candle-holder^         candle-lighter  39.     done'\  dum  Q^.    dun  QjQ^QjF^. 

Rowe.  41.     w/V<r]  mire.  Ff. 

has  been  made  imputing  an  error  in  Grumio's  question,  "Are  the  rushes  stre7ved  ?" 
but  the  custom  of  strewing  rushes  in  England  belonged  also  to  Italy.  This  may  be 
seen  in  old  authors,  and  their  very  word  giuncare,  now  out  of  use,  is  a  proof  of  it.' 

37.  grandsire  phrase]  Steev.  The  proverb  which  Romeo  means,  is  contained 
in  the  line  immediately  following.  To  hold  the  candle  is  a  very  common  proverbial 
expression  for  being  an  idle  spectator.  Among  Ray's  proverbs  is,  '  A  good  candle- 
holder  proves  a  good  gamester.'     \_Sing.  Huds. 

38.  a  candle-holder]  White.  A  common  name  for  a  mere  looker-on.  Its 
origin  is  obvious,  and  we  have  a  relic  of  it  in  the  phrase  used  to  express  the  infe- 
riority of  one  person  to  another:  'he  can't  hold  a  candle  to  him,'  i.  e.,  he  is  not 
worthy  even  to  give  him  light  as  he  works. 

39.  ne'er  so  fair]  RiTSON.  An  allusion  to  an  old  proverbial  saying,  which  ad- 
vises to  give  over  when  the  game  is  at  the  fairest.     ^Sing.  Huds.  Sta. 

Sta.  We  doubt  if  this  is  the  true  meaning  of  Romeo's  "  grandsire-phrase." 

40.  dun's  the  mouse]  Mal.  I  know  not  why,  this  phrase  seems  to  have  meant 
Peace;  be  still !  and  hence  it  may  be  said  to  be  the  'constable's  own  word'  while 
apprehending  an  offender  and  afraid  of  alarming  him  by  any  noise.  [Com.1  So, 
in  Patient  Grissel,  1603:  'WTiat,  Babulo !  say  you.  Heere,  master,  say  I,  and 
then  this  eye  opens ;  yet  don  is  the  mouse,  LIE  still.  WTiat,  Babulo !  says  Grissel. 
Anone,  say  I,  and  then  this  eye  lookes  up;  yet  doune  I  snug  againe.'  [_Sing.  Coll. 
Sta.  Hal. 

Steev.  In  The  Two  Merry  Milkmaids,  1620 :  '  Why  then  'tis  done,  and  dun^s  the 
mouse  and  undone  all  the  courtiers.'  \_Sing.  Huds.  Hal.'\  It  is  used  again  in  West- 
ward Hoe,  by  Decker  and  Webster,  1607.  [.S"/'a.]  '  The  cat  is  grey,'  a  cant  phrase, 
somewhat  similar,  occurs  in  King  Lear.  \^Knt.'\  It  is  found  among  Ray's  Proverbial 
Similes  ['p.  221'  Nares,  '  ed.  1768'  Dyce.]     \_Sta. 

Nares.  a  proverbial  saying  of  rather  vague  signification,  alluding  to  the  color  of 
the  mouse,  but  frequently  employed  with  no  other  intent  than  that  of  quibbling  on 
the  word  done.   WTiy  it  is  attributed  to  a  constable  I  know  not.    \^Sing.  Huds.  Dyce. 

Coll.   It  is  also  used  as  if  '  dun'  were  to  be  understood  dumb.    [^Cham. 

Sta.  White,  Dyce  [substantially]  :  No  satisfactory  explanation  of  this  phrase 
has  yet  been  given. 

41.  thou  art  Dun]  Douce.   We  find  this  phrase  in  the  Manciple's  prologue  of 

Chaucer : 

'  Ther  gan  our  hoste  to  jape  and  to  play. 
And  sayde  ;  sires,  what?    Dun  it  in  ike  mire.' 

There  is  an  equivalent  phrase.  Nothing  is  bolder  than  blynde  Bayard  which  falleth 
cjt  in  the  mire. 

GlKFOr.n  ('yonson's  Works*  'A  Masque  at  Christmas,'  vol.  vii.  p.  .'.S2).  Dun  is 
in  the  mire  is  a  Christmas  g.imbo!,  at  which  I  have  often  played.     A  log  of  wood 


ACT  I,  sc.  U-.]  RlMEO   and   JULIET.  59 

Of  this  sir-reverence  love,  wherein  thou  stick'st 
Up  to  the  ears.     Come,  we  burn  dayhght,  ho. 

42.     Of  this  sir-reverence  love\  Dyce  <rMff  Coll.  Huds.  Hal.  Ktly.     surrever- 

(ed.  2).     Or  save  you  reverence  love  <^'\.  ence  Sing.  (ed.  2).     sir-reverence  Love 

Or  save  your  re-jerence  love  Y  ^  ^  ^.   Or,  White,     {sir-reverence)   Dyce   (ed.    i). 

save  your  reverence,  love  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  sir-reverence,    S.    Walker    conj.]    love, 

Capell,  Ulr.      O!  save  your  reverence.  Or  [save  your  reverence)  love  Sta. 
Icve  Jchns.    conj.      0/  this  [save  rev-  stick' st^    Capell.      slickest    The 

tren'e)  love  Mai.  Var.  Del.  Clarke.    Of  rest. 
this   [sir  reverence,    Knt.      save-rever-  43,     the'\  thine  Theob.Warb.  Johns. 

is  brought  into  the  midst  of  the  room:  this  is  Dun  (the  cart-horse),  and  a  cry  is 
raised  liiat  he  is  stuck  in  the  mire.  Two  of  the  company  advance,  either  with  or 
without  ropes,  to  draw  him  out.  After  repeated  attempts,  they  find  themselves 
unable  to  do  it,  and  call  for  more  assistance.  The  game  continues  till  all  the  com 
pany  take  part  in  it,  when  Dun  is  extricated  of  course;  and  the  merriment  arises 
from  the  awkward  and  affected  efforts  of  the  rustics  to  lift  the  log,  and  from  sundry 
arch  contrivances  to  let  the  ends  of  it  fall  on  one  another's  toes.  This  will  not  be 
thought  a  very  exquisite  amusement ;  and  yet  I  have  seen  much  honest  mirth  at  it 
[Bos-ivell,  Sing.  Knt.  Com.  Coll.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce,  Hal.  Cham. 

Holt  White.  Dun  out  of  the  mire  was  the  name  of  a  tune,  and  to  this  sense 
Mercutio  may  allude  when  Romeo  declines  dancing.  Taylor  in  A  Navy  of  Land 
Ships,  says :  '  Nimble-heeled  mariners  .  .  .  capring  ...  to  the  tune  of  Dusty  my 
Deare,  Dirty  come  Thou  to  Me,  Dun  out  of  the  mire,  or  I  Wayle  in  Woe  and 
Plunge  in  Paine.'     [Coll. 

Halliwell.  '  I  see  I'm  born  still  to  draw  dun  out  <z'  th'  riin'  for  you ;  that  wise 
beast  will  I  be.' — Westward  Hoe,  1607. 

'  \\Tien  we  expect  they  should  serve  another  apprenticeship  to  the  s,.aie  lo  maintain 
the  war,  they  meant  to  leave  reformation,  like  Dun  in  the  mire.^ — Butler's  Remains. 

42.  sir-reverence]  Nares.  A  kind  of  apologetical  apostrophe  when  anything 
was  said  that  might  be  thought  filthy  or  indecent;  salva  reverentia.  It  was  con- 
tacted into  scCreverence,  and  thence  corrupted  into  sir  or  sur-revererce.  This  word 
was  considered  as  a  sufficient  apology  for  anything  indecorous. 

Knt.  Mercutio  says  he  will  draw  Romeo  f-om  the  '  mire  of  this  love,'  and  uses 
parenthetically  the  ordinary  form  of  apology  for  speaking  so  profanely  of  love. 
Gifford  has  given  us  a  quotation  from  an  old  tract  on  the  origin  of  tobacco  which  is 
exactly  in  point :  '  The  time  hath  been,  when,  if  we  did  speak  of  this  loathsome 
stuff,  tobacco,  we  used  to  put  a  "  Sir  reverence"  before,  but  we  forget  our  good 
manners.'  Elsewhere  Gifford  says  :  '  There  is  much  filthy  stuff  on  this  simple  inter- 
jection, of  which  neither  Steevens  nor  Malont  appears  to  have  known  the  import.' 
^Ben  Jonson's  Works,  vol.  vi,  p.  149 ;  vol.  vii,  p.  337.) 

White  [A'ote  on  Com.  of  Err.  Ill,  ii,  93].  Dromio  makes  use  of  the  dirtiest 
possible  comparison :  •  for  he  hath  w.ires  that  are  not  worth  a  save  reverence — nam 
merccs  habet  qua  non  merdd  valent?  Janua  Linguarum,  1640,  Big.  B  3.  And  see 
Grose's  Vulgar  Tongue. 

Dyce.  In  this  passage  the  word  is  used  nearly  in  the  sense  which  it  still  retains 
among  the  vulgar. 

43.  burn  daylight]  Steev.  A  proverbial  expression  used  when  candles  a-« 
lighted  in  the  daytime.     See  Merry  Wives,  II,  i,  54.     [Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  Chan. 


6o  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i.  sc.  \v. 

Roui.     Nay,  tJiat's  not  so. 

Mcr.  I  mean,  sir,  in  delay 

We  waste  our  lights  in  vain,  like  lamps  by  day.  45 

Take  our  good  meaning,  for  our  judgement  sits 
Five  times  in  that  ere  once  in  our  five  wits. 

Ro)ii.     And  we  mean  well,  in  going  to  this  mask. 
But  'ti?  no  wit  to  go. 

Mcr.  Why,  may  one  ask  ? 

44.  A'ay]  om.  Q  Q  .  Theob.  Warb.      IVe  waste  our  lights  tn 
sir,  in  delay']  sir  in  delay  Q^Qj.         vain,  like  lights  by  day  Johns.  Ulr.     IVi 

sir  in  delay,  Q^Q,.     sir  I  delay,  F,.    sir  waste  our  lights  in  vain,  light  lights  by 

I,  delay,  F^.     sir  I,  delay.  F^.     Sir,  I  day  Nicholson  conj.* 

delay.  F^.     sir,  we  delay.  Rowe.  46.     sits]   Jits    Rowe,    Pope,     IJan. 

45.  IVe-.-day]    Capell.       We    7vaste  S.  Walker  conj.     hits  Collier  (MS.) 
our  lights  in  vaine,  lights  lights  by  day  47.     times]  things  Rowe. 

Qq.    We  wast  our  lights  in  vaine,  lights,  our    five]     Mai.     (Wilbraham 

lights,  by  day  Ff,  Rowe,  Knt.     We  bum         conj.).     our  fi tie  QqFf,  Ulr. 
cur  lights  by  light,  and  lamps  by  day 

Sing.  It  is  applied  to  superfluous  actions  in  general. 

HUDS.  That  is,  use  a  candle  when  the  sun  shines. 

Halliwell.  That  is,  we  waste  time.  Lilly  uses  the  phrase,  to  burn  time,  which 
would  lead  us  to  suppose  it  meant  originally  nothing  more  than  destroying  time : 
'  Sblood  !  we  bum  daylight ;  they  will  think,  anon,  We  are  afraid  to  see  their  glit- 
tering swords !' — First  Part,  Heywood's  Edward  IV. 

47.  five  wits]  Ulr.  Plausible  as  Malone's  correction  appears  at  first  sight,  I 
cannot  perceive  in  what  sense  Mercutio  can  say  that  our  judgment  stands  five  times 
in  what  we  mean,  for  once  in  our  five  wits  cr  our  sound  human  understanding.  The 
contrary  may  be  far  more  correctly  maintained.  •  In  cur  fine  wits,'  that  is,  in  our 
cultivated,  our  refined  understanding,  which  clothes  everj-thing  in  fine  witty  phrases, 
gives,  on  the  other  hand,  a  perfectly  clear  meaning. 

Hunter  \^New  Illust.  vol.  ii,  p.  271.  On  Lear  III,  iv].  Five  wits  were  undoubt- 
edly the  five  senses.  Thus  in  Larke's  Book  of  Wisdom  :  '  And  this  knowledge  de 
scendeth  and  cometh  of  the^z-'^  corporal  senses  and  wits  of  the  persons,  as  the  eyes, 
understanding,  and  hearing  of  the  ears,  smell  of  the  nose,  taste  of  the  mouth,'  and 
more  plainly  in  King  Ilenr)'  the  Eighth's  Primer,  1546:  '  l>ly  five  -vits  have  I  fondly 
mis'osed  and  spent,  in  hearing,  seeing,  smelling,  tar.ting,  and  also  feeling,  which  thou 
hast  given  me,'  &c. 

D  YCE.  '  The  wits  seem  to  have  been  reckoned  five  by  analogy  to  the  five  senses, 
ot  the  five  inlets  of  ideas'  (Johnson)  :  '  From  Stephen  Hawes's  poem  called  Graunde 
Atnoure  [a/id  La  Belle  Pucel],  ch.  xxiv,  edit.  1554,  it  ajipears  that  the  _/7f<f  7vit 
were  "  common  wit,  imagination,  fantasy,  estimation  \i.  e.  judgment],  and  memory." 
Wit  in  our  author's  time  was  the  general  term  for  the  intellectual  power.'  (Mai.- 
ONE.)  But  sundr)'  passages  might  be  adduced  from  early  writers,  who  considered 
theyfzv  wits  to  be  \\\e.  five  senses  (see,  for  instance,  the  passage  from  the  interlude  of 
The  Four  Elements  cited  by  Percy  on  Lear  III,  iv,  apud  the  Var.  Sh.,  and  Hunter's 
S'e7u  Illuil.). 


ACT  I,  sc.  iv.J  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  6l 

Rom.  I  dreamt  a  dream  to-night. 

Mer.  And  so  did  I.  50 

Rom.  Well,  what  was  yours  ? 

Mer.  That  dreamers  often  He. 

Rom.  In  bed  asleep,  while  they  do  dream  things  true. 

Mer.  O,  then,  I  see  Queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you. 

53  Af-.ar  uils  line  Ktly.  (Hunter  conj.)  inserts  from  (QJ  :  Ben.  Queen  Mab t 
what  J  she ? 

53.  O,  then,  &c.]  Hunter.  The  exclamation  of  Benvolio  from  (Q  )  ought,  by 
all  means,  to  be  retained,  as  affording  a  just  pretence  for  the  long  description  of 
Queen  Mab  which  follows;  and  which,  according  to  the  present  arrangement,  is  ob- 
truded upon  us.  It  is  also  to  this  question  of  Benvolio  that  the  words  with  which 
Mercutio  closes  his  long  speech  refer — '  This,  this  is  she.' 

53.  Queen  Mab]  Ktly.  {^ Fairy  Mythology^  yo\.\\,'^.  135).  *  Mab,' says  Voss, 
a  German  translator  of  Sh.,  '  is  not  the  Fairy-queen,  the  same  with  Titania,  as  some, 
misled  by  the  word  queen,  have  thought.  That  word  in  Old  English,  as  in  Danish, 
designates  the  female  sex.'  True,  but  where  does  it  or  the  Danish  quinde  occur  in 
the  sense  of  Frau,  by  which  he  renders  it?  The  origin  of  Mab  is  very  uncertain. 
Is  it  a  contraction  of  Habundia,  who,  Heywood  tells  us,  ruled  over  the  Fairies  ? 

W.  J.  Thoms  {'Three  Notelets  on  Sh.,'  1865).  We  find  the  Fairy  Queen  here  in- 
vested with  the  attributes  of  the  Night-mare ;  and  that  this  arose  from  no  confusion 
in  Sh.'s  mind  is  clear  from  the  fact  that  Chaucer  has  shown  us  in  '  The  Wife  of 
Bath's  Tale'  that  such  connection  belonged  to  the  Folk-lore  of  his  times.  And  the 
propriety  of  this  connection  is  confirmed  by  an  examination  of  the  popular  belief 
upon  the  subject  as  it  now  exists  among  the  Continental  nations.  See  '  Deutsche 
Sagen'  of  the  Brothers  Grimm,  vol.  i,  p.  130.  The  reader  will  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  no  earlier  instance  of  Mab  being  used  as  the  designation  of  the  Fairy  Queen 
has  hitherto  been  discovered  than  in  this  passage,  more  especially  since  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  it  is  a  genuine  name  learned  by  Sh.  from  the  Folk-lore  of  his  own 
time.     (See  Brand's  Popular  Antiquities,  vol.  iii,  p.  218,  ed.  1841.) 

Looking  to  the  general  character  given  of  Dame  Abunde,  or  Habunde,  I  at  one 
time  felt  inclined  to  answer  in  the  affirmative  Keightley's  question  \ut  supra'\,  more 
especially  since  Dame  Abonde  might  have  been  contracted  into  Dame  Ab,  and 
thence  into  Mab.  Another  derivation  may  be  from  Mabel,  of  which  Mab  is  a  com- 
mon abbreviation,  and  respecting  which  Camden  says,  '  some  will  have  it  to  be  a 
contraction  of  the  Italians  from  Mabella;  that  is,  my  fair  daughter,  or  maid.  But, 
whereas  it  is  written  in  deeds  Amabilia  and  Mabilia,  I  think  it  cometh  from  Ama- 
bilis,  that  is,  lovable  or  lovely.'  But  further  consideration  has  satisfied  me  that  the 
origin  of  this  name  Mab  is  to  be  found  in  the  Celtic.  Beaufort,  in  his  'Antient  To- 
pography of  Ireland,'  mentions  Mabh  as  the  chief  of  the  Irish  fairies.  In  speaking 
of  the  chief  of  the  genii,  he  says,  '  when  presiding  over  the  forests  and  chief  of  the 
Fiodh  Rhehe'  (fairies  corresponding  with  the  satyrs  and  elves  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans),  '  it  was  denominated  Mabh  by  the  Irish,  by  the  Greeks  Diana,  and  by  the 
Romans  Pan? 

Before  meeting  with  these  passages  I  had  satisfied  myself  of  the  Celtic  origin  of 
the  name  of  Mab,  but  upon  different  grounds ;  for  I  saw  in  this  designation  a  dis- 
6 


62  ROMEO   AXD   JUUE7.  [act  I.  sc.  iv. 

She  is  the  Fairies'  midwife ;  and  she  comes 

In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone  55 

54-91,  Verse  by  Pjpe,  following  Theob.  (Warb.)  Han.  Capell.  fairy 
(Q,)-     I'rose  in  QqFf.  Warton  conj. 

54.    /a/W«']  Steev.    Fairies  Q^C^^Q^^  55.     In  sha/>eno']  In  s/iade;  noV"i.r\i 

Ff  ^Fayries  F  ).      Fairis  (X .     Fancy's         conj.    In  state  no  Nicholson  ccuj. 

aw]  om.  FjFj. 

tinct  allusion  to  the  diminutive  form  of  the  elfin  sovereign.  Afab,  both  in  Welsh  and 
in  the  kindred  dialects  of  Brittany,  signifies  a  child  or  infant,  and  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  an  epithet  that  better  befits  Sh.'s  descriptions  of  the  dwarf-like  sovereign. 
[The  above  is  a  very  condensed  digest  of  an  interesting  and  thorough  examina- 
tion of  the  subject,  far  too  long  for  insertion  here  in  full.]  Ed. 

54.  fairies'  midwife]  Steev.  This  does  not  mean  the  midwife  to  the  fairies,  but 
that  she  was  the  person  among  the  fairies  whose  department  it  was  to  deliver  the 
fancies  of  sleeping  men  of  their  dreams,  those  children  of  an  idle  brain.  When  we 
say  the  king's  judges  we  do  not  mean  persons  who  are  to  judge  the  king,  but  persons 
appointed  by  him  to  judge  his  subjects.     \^Sing.  Verp.  Huds.  Dyce,  Hal. 

T.  Warton.  Because  it  was  her  peculiar  employment  to  steal  the  new-born  babe 
in  the  night,  and  to  leave  another  in  its  place.  It  would  clear  the  appellation  to  read 
the  fairy  midwife.     [Ilaz.  Verp.  White,  Dyce. 

White.    Warburton's  reading  is  very  plausible  and  quite  poetical. 

55.  In  shape]  Nicholson  {Notes  and  Queries,  3d  .Series,  vol.  x,  p.  163,  1866). 
Like  an  agate-stone  in  a  ring!  Surely  a  strange  shape  and  simile  for  Queen  Mab. 
If  it  be  said  that  shape  applies  to  Queen  Mab  and  her  surroundings,  and  not  to  her 
person  only,  the  answers  are,  that  she  herself  is  the  only  antecedent  mentioned  that 
in  shape  is  not  a  shape,  and  that  if  it  were,  it  is  a  more  than  questionable  use  of  the 
word  to  make  it  mean  equipage  when  equipage  has  not  been  alluded  to.  Whence, 
also,  the  suggestion,  '  on  the  forefinger  of  an  alderman  ?'  Read  state  and  all  be- 
comes clear.  At  present  the  words  drawn  and  waggon-spokes  break  in  and  turn  us 
most  inartistically  from  Queen  Mab's  person  to  a  wholly  new  idea — her  conveyance. 
But  with  state,  Mercutio's  words  show,  from  the  first,  that  vision  of  the  Queen  in  her 
state  progress  which  he  sees  already  in  his  mind's  eye,  and  which  he  is  about  to  de- 
scribe. Instead  of  an  incongruous  simile  inserted  between  '  she  comes — drawn,' 
we  have  •  she  comes  drawn  in  state  by  little  atomies,'  where,  through  the  interven- 
tion of  state,  the  word  drawn  applies  to  the  compound  idea  of  herself  and  her  con- 
veyance, and  prepares  us  for  her  '  waggon-spokes.'     Hence,  it  is  that  in  the  first 

ketch,  or  first  quarto,  while  there  is  mention  of  waggon-spokes,  waggon-cover,  traces, 
&c.,  nothing  is  said  of  the  waggon.  Afterwards,  the  description  of  the  chariot  was 
evidently  given  by  Mercutio  as  if  it  were  his,  as  it  was  Sh.'s,  afterthought  evolved 
out  of  the  growing  luxuriance  of  his  fancy.  The  after-change  also  of  '  in  this  sort' 
to  '  in  this  state  she  gallops,'  is  in  favour  of  the  previous  use  of  the  latter,  for  Sh, 
was  fond  of  such  repetitions,  and  it  is  one  which  marks  the  recurrence  to  the  main 
theme  after  digression  into  details.  Lastly,  the  comparison  is  to  the  agate-ring  of 
an  alderman,  because  it  is  the  state  of  a  lesser  than  a  Lilliput  magnate  compared 
with  that  of  a  large-sized  Brobdingnagian,  the  size  of  the  essential  part  of  the  signet 
as  compared  with  the  whole  pomp  of  a  full-blown  alderman  clad  in  civic  robes  and 
carried  in  a  cumbrous  civic  coach. 


ACTi,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  63 

On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman, 

Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 

Athwart  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep : 

Her  waggon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs ; 

The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ;  60 

The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web ; 

The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams ; 

Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone ;  the  lash,  of  film ; 

Her  waggoner,  a  small  grey-coated  gnat, 

57.  atomies']  ottamie  Q^.  spider's]  spider  Q^QjQ^. 

58.  Athwart]  (QJ  Pope.  t^<rr  Qq  62.  The  collars]  (QJ  Pope.  Her 
Ff,  Rowe,  Capell,  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  collars  QqFf,  Rowe,  Capell,  Knt.  Sta. 
White,  Hal.  Cambr. 

59.  made  of  long]  are  made  of  (Q,)  collars]  coullers  F,. 

Seymour  conj.  63.     film]   filine    F^P"  F  .     Philome 

61.      The  traces]  {f^^Yo'^Q.  her  trace  QqF^. 

F  F  ,  Rowe.    Her  traces  QqF^,  Capell,  64.     xva^goner^  ■waggoner' s  Seymour 

ICnt.  Sta.  Cambr.  conj. 

P.  E.  Masey  (TV.  and  Q.  3d  Ser.  vol.  x,  p.  216).  Nicholson  is,  I  think,  certainly 
wrong.  The  meaning  I  apprehend  to  be :  In  shape  no  bigger  than  the  engraved 
igures  on  the  agate-stone.  The  exquisite  delicacy  which  ordinarily  characterizes 
«uch  a  small  cameo  as  is  here  referred  to  renders  the  comparison  most  appropriate. 
Nothing  else  in  the  whole  range  of  representative  art  conveys  so  perfect  an  idea  of 
fairy-like  form. 

55.  agate-stone]  Del.  Sh.  has  also  elsewhere  compared  diminutive  persons  to 
the  little  figures  cut  in  relief  in  agate  and  set  in  rings;  thus,  in  2  K.  Hen.  IV: 
I,  ii,  19. 

White.  It  appears  to  have  been  the  fashion  among  civic  dignitaries  and  wealthy 
citizens  all  over  Europe  to  wear  on  the  forefinger  or  the  thumb  agate  rings  cut  in 
cameo  or  intaglio.  Oftenest  in  cameo,  it  would  seem,  from  the  not  unfrequent  com- 
parison of  children  and  dwarfish  men  to  '  agates,'  meaning,  of  course,  the  figures 
cut  upon  the  agate.  It  would  be  a  matter  of  some  interest  in  the  history  of  art  to 
inquire  whether  these  gems  were  antiques,  cinque-cento  work,  or  the  production  of 
contemporary  artists. 

56.  an  alderman]  Steev.   We  may  suppose  the  citizens  in  Sh.'s  time  wore  this 

ornament  on  the  thumb.     So  Glapthome,  in  Wit  in  a  Constable,  1639:  ' and 

an  alderman  as  I  may  say  to  you,  he  has  no  more  wit  than  the  rest  o'  the  bench ; 
and  that  lies  in  his  thumb-ring.^     \^Sing,  Hal. 

57.  atomies]  Steev.  An  obsolete  substitute  for  atoms.  There  is  likewise  a  de- 
scription of  Queen  Mab's  chariot  in  Dra3fton's  Nympl.idia.     \^Sing. 

Mal.    Drayton's  Nymphidia  was  written  several  years  after  this  tragedy.     \^Sing. 

Mommsen.  This  similarity  of  ending  in  (QJ  and  Q^  is  assuredly  no  accident,  but 
OTOves  that  Sh.  used  this  as  a  purely  foreign  word,  which  does  not  end  in  s. 

Halliwell.  *  Sith  every  fniitlesse  fly  hath  found  a  friend,  And  I  cast  down  when 
zttomies  doth  climb  e.' — MS.  Poems,  c.  1630. 


64 


ROAfEO   AXD    JULIET. 


[act  I,  sc.  iv 


Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 
Prick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid : 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel  or  old  grub, 
Time  out  of  mind  the  Fairies'  coachmakers. 
And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love ; 
On  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  court'sies  straight; 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees ; 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream. 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues. 
Because  their  breaths  with  sweetmeats  tainted  are : 
Sometime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 


65 


70 


75 


66.  Prick'd^  Pickt  (QJ.  Pick'd 
Coll.  (MS.) 

lazy  finger^  Lazie-fingtr  F,. 
Lazy-Ji»ger  F^F^. 

viaid'\  (Qj)  Pope,  man  QqF,. 
woman  F,F  F^,  Rowe.  milkmaid  Coll. 
(MS).  Ulr. 

67-69.  Her....coachmakers\  Trans- 
ferred to  follow  line  5S,  Lettsom  conj. 

69.  of  mind  "^  amind  Q^.  a  mind 
QjQ^F.F,.  0'  mind  Capell,  Knt.  Dyce, 
Sta.  White,  Cham.  Cambr. 

72.  on"]  O'er  Han.  from  (QJ,  Ca- 
pell, Dyce,  White,  Cham.  Cambr.  Clarke. 

72.     Om.  Se)'mour  conj. 


72.  courdersH      Countries      F  F.F., 

'  ri  334' 

Rowe.    counties'  Tyrvvhitt  conj. 
court' sies\  cursies  QqFf. 

73.  dreani'\  dreamt  F,. 

74.  on'\  one  Q^. 

76.  breaths']     Rowe.       breath     Qq 
Ff. 

77.  Sometime']    sometimes   Q.,    Knt. 
(ed.  i),  Com.  Cham. 

courtier's]  lawyer's  Pope,  from 
(QJ,  Theob.  Han.  taylor>s  Theobald 
conj.  counsellor's  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.) 
Ulr. 

courtier's  nose]  lawyer's  lip  Sey- 
mour conj.  from  (Q,). 


65.  worm]  Nares  [sub  *IdU  fVorms'].  Worms  bred  from  idleness.  It  was  sup- 
posed, and  the  notion  was  probably  encouraged  for  the  sake  of  promoting  industry, 
that  when  maidens  were  idle,  worms  bred  in  their  fingers :  '  Keep  thy  hands  in  thy 
muff  and  warni  the  idle  Worms  m  \.\vy  fingers'  ends.' — B.  and  FL,  Woman  Hater., 

in,  i. 

66.  a  maid]  Ulr.  As  this  correction  [Coll.  MS.]  is  in  accordance  with  (Q,), 
and  is  altogether  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  Sh.,  who  everywhere  loves  the 
most  pregnant,  inQi\'idual  delineation,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  adopting  it. 

67.  Her  chariot,  &c.]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  '  It  is  preposterous  to  speak  of  the  parts 
of  a  chariot  (such  as  the  waggon-spokes  and  cover)  before  mentioning  the  chariot 
itself.' — W.  N.  Lettsom. 

72.  on  courtiers]  Dyce.  Even  without  the  reading  of  (Q,)  the  context  ought 
to  have  shown  Malone  and  other  editors  that '  On'  is  quite  wrong. 

76.  sweetmeats]  Mai,.  That  is,  kissing  comfits.  These  artificial  jjds  to  per- 
fume the  breath  are  mentioned  in  Merry  Wives,  V,  v,  22.     \_Sing,  Dyce. 

77.  courtier's  nose]  Dyce  (ed.  i).  The  various  attempts  to  do  away  with  the 
tathcr  awkward  repetition  of  '  courtier'  have  proved  as  unhappy  as  they  are  useless. 


ACTi.  sc.  iv.|  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  65 

A.nd  then  dreams  he  of  smeUing  out  a  suit ; 

And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail 

Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  'a  lies  asleep,  80 

Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice  : 

Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 

And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 

Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 

Of  healths  five  fathom  deep ;  and  then  anon  85 

79.  sometime']  sometimes  Rowe,  &c.  81.  dreams  he"]  {Ql^  Vo^g.  ke  dreams 
Var.  Knt.  (ed.  i).                                               QqFf,  Capell,  Coll.  (ed.  l),  Ulr.  Del. 

a]  om.  F,.  White,  Cambr. 

80.  a  parson's  nose'\  a  parson  Pope  82.  sometime"]  sometimes  Rowe,  &c. 
(ed.  l),  Han.     the  parson  Pope  (ed,  2),         Knt.  (ed.  i),  Corn. 

&c.  85.     Of   healths']     Of  delves    (i.  e., 

parson^s]  Persons  Q^.  trenches),  Thirlby  conj.    Trenches  Ktly. 

as  'a]   that  (QJ   Lettsom  conj.  conj. 

as  a  QqF,.   as  he  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.    as  fathom]    F^.     fadome    QqF^F^. 

a'  Capell,  Cambr.  fadom  F^,  White. 

Coll.  \_' Notes  and  Emend.'']  It  has  been  properly  objected  that  this  is  the  second 
time  the  poet  has  here  introduced  '  courtiers.'  To  avoid  this.  Pope  (from  QJ,  while 
shunning  one  defect,  introduced  another  by  a  double  mention  of  '  lawyers.'  The 
(MS.)  decides  the  question  by  treating  the  second  •courtiers'  as  a  misprint  for  a 
word  which,  when  carelessly  written,  is  not  very  dissimilar :  '  counsellor's.^  That 
counsellors,  and  their  interest  in  suits  at  court,  should  thus  be  ridiculed,  cannot  be 
thought  unnatural. 

White.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Sh.  wrote  '  a  counsellor's  nose ;'  but,  although 
there  is  an  awkward  repetition  in  the  old  text,  there  is  not  sufficient  ground  for  a 
conjectural  change. 

78.  suit]  Ware.  A  court-solicitation  was  called,  simply,  a  suit,  and  a  process,  a  suit 
at  law,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  other.     [Sing.  (ed.  l),  Knt.  Haz.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Mal.  In  Decker's  GuVs  Hornbooke,  1609:  'If  you  be  a  courtier  discourse  of 
the  obtaining  of  suitsJ     \_Sta. 

Stzev.  This  whole  speech  bears  a  close  resemblance  to  Claudian  :  In  Sextum 
Consulatum  Honorii  Augusti  Praefatio  [lines  1-12].     \_Sing. 

84.  Spanish  blades]  Johnson.  A  sword  is  called  a  toledo  from  the  excellence 
of  the  Toletan  steel.     [^Sitig. 

85.  healths  five  fathom  deep]  Mal.  So  in  '  Westward  Hoe,'  by  Decker  and 
Webster,  1607:  'Troth,  sir,  my  master  and  Sir  Goslin  are  guzzling;  they  are  dab- 
bling together  fathom  deep.  The  knight  has  drunk  so  much  health  to  the  gentleman 
yonder,  on  his  knees,  that  he  hath  almost  lost  the  use  of  his  legs.'     \_Corn.  Hal. 

Ktly.  It  seems  almost  incredible  that  such  a  glaring  absurdity  as  this  should 
have  escaped  a  long  succession  of  critics ;  and  yet  I  am  not  aware  that  any  have 
noticed  it.  What  is  a  health  ?  a  wish,  a  moral  idea ;  and  how  could  that  be  '  five 
fathom  deep'  ?  or  be  an  object  of  terror  to  a  soldier?  It  may  be  said  that  it  is  the 
cup  that  is  meant,  but  of  this  we  have  no  instance ;  and  even  if  we  had.  Master 
Silence,  who  was  a  man  of  peace,  sings : 

6  £ 


66  KOMEO   AXD    JULIET.  [act  I.  sc.  Iv 

Drums  ii:  his  ear,  at  which  he  starts  and  wakes, 

And  being  thus  frighted  swears  a  prayer  or  two, 

And  sleeps  again.     This  is  that  veiy  Mab 

That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night 

And  bakes  the  elf-locks  in  foul  sluttish  hairs,  90 

Which  once  untangled  much  misfortune  bodes : 

86.     Mr]  tare  (Q.)Qq.    tares  F.F^F^.  elf-locks']  Elklocks  QjQ^F^. 

»<jrj  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  9I.     untangled'l  enlangleJ  f^,  ]ohm. 

90.     hakes']  cakes  Pope,  &c.   Capell,  itUangled  F^,  Rowe. 

Mar.     tnakes  Coll.  (MS).  misfortune']  misfortunes  Rowe. 

'  Fill  the  cup  and  let  it  come. 
I'll  pledge  you  a  mile  to  the  bottom.' 

So,  as  we  may  see,  he  was  not,  and  why  should  a  soldier  be,  afraid  of  it  ?  In  Ma- 
lone's  quotation  from  Westward  Hoe,  we  have  drinking  fathom  deep,  and  it  is 
apparently  drinking  healths ;  but  there  is  nothing  about  terror  in  it,  and  it  seems,  no 
unusual  circumstance,  to  have  arisen  from  the  present  line.  In  fine,  something  must 
have  been  named  that  was  a  real  object  of  terror  to  a  soldier ;  and  I  know  no  word 
so  likely  to  have  been  used  as  trenches,  which  might  e.isily  have  been  mistaken  for 
'  healths.'    In  that  case  the  metric  accent  falling  on  '  five'  would  augment  the  terror. 

89.  plats  the  manes]  Douce.  This  alludes  to  a  very  singular  superstition  not 
yet  forgotten  in  some  parts  of  the  country.  It  was  believed  that  certain  malignant 
spirits,  whose  delight  was  to  wander  in  groves  and  pleasant  places,  assumed  occa- 
sionally the  likenesses  of  women  clothed  m  white ;  that  in  this  character  they  some- 
times haunted  stables  in  the  night-time,  carrying  in  their  hands  tapers  of  wax,  which 
they  dropped  on  the  horses'  manes,  thereby  plaiting  them  in  inextricable  knots,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  the  poor  animals  and  vexation  of  their  masters.  These  hags 
are  mentioned  in  the  works  of  William  of  Auvergne,  bishop  of  Paris  in  the  13th 
century.  There  is  a  very  uncommon  old  print  by  Hans  Burgmair  relating  to  this 
subject.  A  witch  enters  the  stable  with  a  lighted  torch;  and  previously  to  the  opera- 
tion of  entangling  the  horse's  mane,  practises  her  enchantment  on  the  groom,  who 
is  lying  asleep  on  his  back,  and  apparently  influenced  by  the  nightmare.  The  Belem- 
nites,  or  elf-stones,  were  regarded  as  channs  against  the  last-mentioned  disease,  and 
against  evil  spirits  of  all  kinds ;  but  the  ceraunia  or  batuli,  and  all  perforated  flint 
stones,  were  not  only  used  for  the  same  purpose,  but  more  particularly  for  the  pro- 
tection of  horses  and  other  cattle,  by  suspending  them  in  stables,  or  tying  them 
round  the  necks  of  the  animals.     [A«/.  Corn.  Verp.  Iluds.  Hal. 

90.  bakes]  Warburton.  This  superstition  seems  to  have  had  its  rise  from  the 
horrid  disease  called  the  Plica  Polonica.     \_Sing.  Knt.  White,  Dyce. 

Douce.  The  Plica  Polonica  was  supposed  to  be  the  operation  of  wicked  elves; 
whence  the  clotted  hair  was  called  elf-locks  and  elf-knots.  Thus  Edgar  talks  of 
^  elfing  all  his  hair  in  knots.^  [A«/.]  Lodge  in  his  Wits''  Miserie,  1599,  describing 
a  devil  whom  he  names  Brawling- Contention,  says  '  his  haires  are  curld  and  full  of 
lives  locks,  and  nitty  for  want  of  kembing.'     [Hal. 

Nares.  It  is  not  probable  that  the  terrible  disease  called  Plica  Polonica  could 
have  been  alluded  to,  as  some  have  supposed. 

91.  bodes]   Del.   Since  '  which' refers  to  'elf-locks,'  '  bodes' should  be  in  the 


ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  67 

This  is  the  hag,  when  maids  lie  on  their  backs, 
That  presses  them  and  learns  them  first  to  bear, 
Making  them  women  of  good  carriage : 
This  is  she — 

Rom.         Peace,  peace,  Mercutio,  peace !  95 

Thou  talk'st  of  nothing. 

Mer.  True,  I  talk  of  dreams  ; 

Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy. 
Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air, 

And  more  inconstant  than  the  wind,  who  wooes  100 

Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  North, 
And,  being  anger'd,  puffs  away  from  thence. 
Turning  his  face  to  the  dew-dropping  South. 

Ben.     This  wind  you  talk  of  blows  us  from  ourselves ; 
Supper  is  done,  and  we  shall  come  too  late.  105 

Rom.     I  fear,  too  early :  for  my  mind  misgives 
Some  consequence,  yet  hanging  in  the  stars. 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night's  revels,  and  expire  the  term 

95.     This\     This,    this     Han.    Var.  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

(Com).  Huds.     And  this  Capell.  103.     his  face\   (Q,)  Pope,    his  stat 

she—']Y^¥^^.  5/4<?.  QjQjF,.  shee  QqFf.    his  tide  CoW.  {US),   aside  Anon. 

Q^Qj.   she  that...  Ktly.  conj.* 

100.     inconstant']    unconstant    Q-F  107.    yet']  still  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

plural ;  hut  its  connection  with  '  once  untangled,'  in  the  sense  of  whose  disentangle- 
ment, has  given  us  a  singular  by  attraction, 
92.  on  their  backs]  Steev.   So  in  Drajrton's  Nymphidia : 

'And  Mab,  his  merry  queen,  by  night 
Bestrides  young  folks  that  lie  upright, 
(In  elder  times  the  mare  that  hight) 
Which  plagues  them  out  of  measure.' 

ao  m  Gervase  of  Tilbury,  Dec.  I,  c.  17:  'Vidimus  quosdam  daemones  tanto  zeio 
mulieres  amare,  quod  ad  inaudita  prorumpunt  ludibria,  et,  cum  ad  concubitum  earunj 
accedunt,  niira  mole  eas  opprimunt,  nee  ab  aliis  videntur.'     \^Hal. 

103.  Turning  his  face]  Coll.  \^ Notes  and  Emend?]  We  may  receive  the  (MS  ) 
as  Sh.'s  language,  though  tide  may  more  strictly  belong  to  water  than  to  wind. 

Ulr.  It  is  very  possible  that  Collier's  (MS.)  gives  us  the  true  reading.  It  is  pre- 
cisely the  unusual  application  to  the  description  of  wind  of  what  properly  describea 
water  that  betrays  the  hand  of  Sh. 

109.  expire]  Malone.  So,  in  the  Rape  of  Lucrece:  *  An  exfiir^d  date,  cancell'd 
eic  well  begun.'     \_Sing. 


68 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


Of  a  despised  life  closed  in  my  breast, 
By  some  vile  forfeit  of  untimely  death  : 
But  He,  that  hath  the  steerage  of  my  course, 
Direct  my  sail !     On,  lusty  gentlemen. 
Beyi.     Strike,  drum. 


[act  I,  sc.  f 
110 


\Exeunt 


Scene  V.     A  hall  in  CapiilcVs  ho7ise. 

Musicians  waiting.     Enter  Servingmen,  with  napkins. 

First  Sen>.     Where's  Potpan,  that  he  helps  not  to  take  away  f 
he  shift  a  trencher !  he  scrape  a  trencher  ! 


no.     breastl  breath  Coll.  (MS). 
112.     steerage']   stirrage  QaQjQ^F.F, 

112,  113.  course. ..sair\  fate. ..course 
Capell  conj. 

113.  Direct]  Directs  (Q,)  Bos. 

113.  sail]  (Q/j  Steev.  sute  QqFf, 
Rowe,  &c.  Capell.    fate  Anon,  conj.* 

114.  [Exeunt.]  Drum.  Exeunt.  Ca- 
pell. They  march  about  the  Stage,  and 
Exeunt,  Theob.    om.  QqFf. 


ScE.vE  v.]  Steev.  Scene  w.  Han. 
Pope  continues  the  scene.  Act  il. 
Scene  ii.  Capell. 

A  hall...]  Theob. 

Musicians  waiting.]  Capell. 

Enter....]  They  march  about  the 
Stage,  and  Ser\'ingmen  come  forth  with 
Napkins.  Enter  Romeo.  Qq.  They 
march. ...their  napkins.  Enter  Servant. 
Ff. 

1 ,  2.     Prose,  Pope.    Two  lines,  QqFC 


Steevens.  Again,  in  Hubbard's  Tale :  •  Now,  whereas  time  flying  with  wings 
swift  Expired  had  the  term'  &c.     \^Sing. 

Hi;dson.   So  in  Daniel's  Complaint  of  Rosamond  : 

'Thou  must  not  think  thy  flow'r  can  always  flourish. 
And  that  thy  beauty  will  be  still  admir'd  ; 
But  that  those  rays  which  all  those  flames  do  nourish, 
Cancell'd  with  time,  will  hai>e  their  date  expir'd.' 

114.  Strike  drum]  Coll.  This  stage-direction  of  the  Ff  shows  that  the  scent, 
was  supposed  to  be  immediately  changed  to  the  hall  of  Capulet's  house.  [  Verp. 
White,  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

White.  This  stage  direction  was  manifestly  intended  for  the  prompter  or  stage 
manager  only. 

Del.  That  Romeo  and  his  friends  remain  upon  the  stage,  and  that  therefore  no 
new  scene  begins,  is  manifest  from  the  old  stage-direction  at  line  13. 

1.  First  Serv.]  Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  am  not  sure  that  the  dialogue  here  is  rightly 
distributed ;  perhaps  there  should  be  a  third  speaker ;  but  it  is  of  no  great  con- 
sequence. 

2.  shift  a  trencher !]  Del.  These  are  composite  substantives:  shift-a-trencher, 
tcrape-a-trencher,  Tellenvechsler,  Teller kratzer. 

Percy.  In  the  Household  Book  of  the  Earls  of  Northumberland  it  appears  that 
Trenchers  were  common  to  the  tables  of  the  first  nobility.  \_Sing.  and  Huds. 
(subs.) 

Reed.    To  shift  a  trencher  was  technical.     In  The  Miseries  of  Enforst  Marriage, 


ACT  I.  sc.  v.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  69 

Sec.  Serv.  When  good  manners  shall  lie  all  in  one  or  two 
men's  hands,  and  they  unwashed  too,  'tis  a  foul  thing. 

First  Serv.  Away  with  the  joint-stools,  remove  the  court- 
cupboard,  look  to  the  plate. — Good  thou,  save  me  a  piece  of 
marchpane ;  and,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  the  porter  let  in  Susan 
Grindstone  and  Nell. — Antony !  and  Potpan  !  8 

34.     Two  lines,  Q,.    Prose,  The  rest.  8.     iV^//.]  Theob.     7VW/,  QqFf. 

3      a//]  Qq.     om.  Ff,  Rowe.  Antony !  and  Potpan  !'\  Antony  I 

5.    joint-stools']     Rowe.      toynstooles,  Potpan !  Cz^t^qW.   Antony  Potpan !  Dyes 

join-stooles,  joyn-stooks,  joyn-stools   Qq  (ed.  2).     Antony,  and  Potpan!   Dyce 

Ff.    join' d-stools  White.  (ed.  l),  Cambr. 

7.     lovest]  loves  Qq.  Enter  Third  and  Fourth  Ser.  Clarke. 

1608:   ' leame  more  manners,  stand  at  your  brother's  backe,  as  to  shift  a 

trencher  neately,'  &c.     \_Sing. 

Nichols.  They  continued  common  much  longer  in  publick  societies,  particularly 
in  Colleges  and  Inns  of  Court,  and  are  still  retained  at  Lincoln's-Inn.     \_Sing. 

Nares.  a  wooden  platter.  It  was  considered  as  a  stride  of  luxury  when  trench- 
ers were  often  changed  in  one  meal. 

5-6.  court-cupboard]  Steev.  Probably  what  we  call  the  side-board.  It  is  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  old  plays.  In  A  Humorous  Day's  Mirth,  1599:  'Shadow 
these  tables  with  their  white  veils  and  accomplish  the  court-cupboard.^  In  Chap- 
man's Monsieur  D'Olive,  1606  :  '  Here  shall  stand  my  court-cupboard  with  its  furni- 
ture of  plate.'  \^Sing.  Knt.  Coll.  Verp.  Hal.]  And  also  in  his  May-Day,  161 1: 
*  Court-cupboards  planted  with  flaggons,  cans,  cups,  beakers,  &c.'  Two  of  these 
court-cupboards  are  still  in  Stationers'  Hall.     \^Sing.  Hal. 

Nichols.  The  use  which  to  this  day  is  made  of  them  is  exactly  described  in  the 
quotation  from  Chapman  :  to  display  at  public  festivals  the  flaggons  and  other  antique 
silver  vessels  of  the  Company.     \^Sing.  Hal, 

Sing.  There  is  a  print  in  a  curious  work,  entitled  Laurea  Austriaca,  fol.  1627, 
representing  an  entertainment  given  by  James  I  in  1623,  from  which  the  reader  will 
get  a  better  notion  of  the  court-cupboard  than  volumes  of  description  would  afford. 
It  was  also  called  a  cupboard  0/ plate  and  a  livery  cupboard. 

Sta.  It  appears  to  have  been  what  we  now  call  a  cabinet. 

Dyce.  A  sort  of  movable  sideboard  without  doors  or  drawers,  in  which  was  dis- 
played the  plate  of  the  establishment. 

Halliwell.  'Dressoir,^  cupboord;  a  court-cupboord  (without  box  or  drawer), 
onely  to  set  plate  on.' — Cotgrave.     [Dyce. 

'John  being  in  London,  in  a  gallant  garb  passing  along,  espieth  a  silver  flagon 
standing  on  a  court-cupboard,  a  young  gentlewoman  being  at  door,  he  pretended  his 
bird  flew  in ;  she  gave  him  admittance,  he  thanked  her,  but  the  silver  flagon  was 
never  heard  of.'    The  Witty  Jests  and  Mad  Pranks  of  John  Frith,  1673. 

7.  marchpane]  Steev.  Marchpanes  were  composed  of  filberts,  almonds,  pista- 
choes,  pine-kernels,  and  sugar  of  roses,  with  a  small  proportion  of  flour.  \^Sing. 
Coll.  Verp.  Hiids.  Sta.]  A  constant  article  in  the  desserts  of  our  ancestors.  \_Sing. 
Huds.]  In  the  year  1560  (♦  1562,'  SiNG.)  I  find  the  following  entry  on  the  books  of 
the  Stationers'  Company :  '  Item,  payd  for  ix  marsh  paynes,  xxvi  s.  viii  d.'     \Sing.  J 


70  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i.  sc.  ». 

Sec.  Sai>.     Ay,  boy,  ready. 

First  Sin:  You  are  looked  for  and  called  for,  asked  for  and 
sought  for,  in  the  great  chamber. 

9.     Sec.  Sen'.]  2  Ser.  Rowe.     2  Qq  10.     anJ  ^aZ/eJ]  called  F^I"^,  Rowc. 

Ff.     Third  and  Fourth  Ser.  Clarke.  &c. 

Our   maearoom   are    only   debased    and    diminutive    marchpanes.       \_Coll.    Verf. 

Karf^.  The  word  exists,  with  little  variation,  in  all  European  languages;  yet  its 
derivation  is  uncertain.  Skinner  says  it  is  'quasi  dicas  massa  pants,  i.  e.,  a  mass  of 
bread.  Lye  derives  it  from  the  Dutch,  in  which,  besides  marcepeyn,  which  he  con- 
siders as  a  corruption,  there  is  massereyn,  which  means  pure  bread;  but  this  is  not 
very  satisfactory.  In  mediajval  Latin  they  were  called  ma rtii  panes,  vihich  gave 
occasion  to  Ilermolaus  Barbarus  to  make  some  inquiry  into  their  origin  in  a  letter  to 
Cardinal  Piccolomini,  who  had  sent  some  to  him  as  a  present. — Politian's  Epistles, 
Book  xii.  Balthasar  Bonifacius  says  that  they  were  named  from  Marcus  Apicius, 
the  famous  epicure:  'Ab  hoc  Marco,  panes  saccharo  conditi  vulgo  etiamnum  dicun- 
tur  Marci  panes,  vel  potius  ab  alio  quodam  juniore,  M.  Gavio  Apicio,  qui  sub 
Augusto  et  Tiberio  fuit  ad  omne  luxfis  ingenium  mirus,  &c.' — Fabric.  Bibl.  Lat.,  ed. 
Ernest.,  vol.  ii,  p.  468.  Minshew  will  have  them  originally  sacred  to  Mars,  and 
stam]ied  with  a  castle,  which  is  nearly  the  opinion  of  Hermolaus.  Whatever  was 
the  origin  of  their  name,  the  English  receipt-books  all  show  that  they  were  com- 
posed of  almonds  and  sugar,  compounded  and  baked.     Here  is  a  specimen : 

To  make  a  marckpant. — Take  two  poundes  of  almonds  being  blanched,  and  dryed  in  a  sieve  ovei 
the  fire,  beate  them  ic  a  stone  mortar,  and  when  they  bee  small  mixe  them  with  two  pounde  of  sugai 
beeing  finely  beaten,  adding  two  or  three  spoonefuls  of  rosewater,  and  that  will  keep  your  a'.monds 
from  oilinR ;  when  your  paste  is  beaten  fine,  drive  it  thin  with  a  rowling  pin,  and  so  lay  it  on  a  bottom 
of  wafers,  then  raise  up  a  little  edge  on  the  side,  and  so  bake  it,  then  yce  it  with  rosewater  and  sugar, 
then  put  it  in  the  oven  againe.  and  when  you  see  your  yce  is  risen  up  and  drie,  then  take  it  out  of  the 
oven  and  garnish  it  with  prettie  conceipts,  as  birdesand  beasts,  being  cast  out  of  standing  moldes.  Sticke 
long  comfits  upright  in  it,  cast  bisket  and  carrowaies  in  it  and  so  serve  it  ;  guild  it  before  you  serve  it : 
you  may  also  print  of  this  marchpatu  paste  in  your  moldes  for  banqueting  dishes.  And  of  this  paste 
our  comfit  makers  at  this  day  make  their  letters,  knots,  armes,  escutcheons,  beasts,  birds  and  other 
&ncies. — Dttigktet  for  Laditt,  1608,  i3mo.  Sign.  A  la. 

Castles  and  other  figures  were  often  made  of  marchpane  to  decorate  splendid  des- 
serts, and  were  demolished  by  shooting  or  throwing  sugar-plums  at  them.  Vide 
B.  and  FL,  Faithful  Friends,  iii,  2,  and  Taylor's  Praise  of  HempseeJ,  p.  66. 

Hunter.  'To  make  a  marchpane'  stands  in  the  first  place  in  The  Treasury  of 
Hidden  Secrets,  commonly  called  The  Good  Housewife' s  Closet  of  Provision,  1 627. 
See  also,  A  Hermeiical  Banquet  dressed  by  a  Spagiritical  Cook,  1652,  p.  I02,  in 
which  strange  work,  in  which  Sh.'s  name  is  found,  we  have  particular  directions  foi 
making  marchpane. 

Ulr.  Evidently  the  same  as  our  Marcipan,  although  composed  of  other  ingie- 
dients. 

Halliwell.  According  to  Forby,  ii,  208,  the  term  was  used  up  to  a  very  recent 
period.  See  Markham's  Country  Farme,  1616,  p.  585;  Ben  Jonson,  ii,  295;  Top- 
sell's  Serpents,  p.  165  Warner's  Antiq.  Culin.,  p.  103;  Harrison's  England,  p.  167; 
Fiorio,  p.  134.  'As  tc  suppresse  by  message  sad.  The  feast  for  which  they  all  havo 
had  Tlicir  marchpane  dream  so  long.' — Songs  of  the  London  Prentices,  p.  3I- 


4CT  I,  SC.  v.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


71 


Third  Sirz'.      We  cannot   be  here  and  there  too. — (Jheerly, 
boys ;  De  brisk  awhile,  and  the  longer  liver  take  all. 

[77/^/  retire  behind. 

enter  Capulet,  Lady  Catulet,  Juliet,  Tybalt,  and  others  of  his  Home,  to  the 

Guests  and  Maskers. 


C(ip.     Welcome,  gentlemen  !  ladies  that  have  their  toes 
Unplagued  with  corns  will  have  a  bout  with  you : — 
Ah  ha,  my  mistresses !  which  of  you  all 
Will  now  deny  to  dance?  she  that  makes  dainty, 
She,  I'll  swear,  hath  corns;  am  I  come  near  ye  now? — 
Welcome,  gentlemen !  I  have  seen  the  day 


15 


12.     Third    Serv.]     3.    Qq.      i.    Ff. 
2  Ser.  Rowe.     3  and  4  Ser.  Clarke. 

Cheerly'\  2  Serv.    Cheerly  Clarke. 

12.  13.     Prose,    Pope.      Two    lines, 
QqFf. 

13.  [They  retire  behind.]  Mai.    Ex- 
eunt. QqFf.     om.  Capell. 

Enter...]  Enter  all  the  guests 
and  gentlewomen  to  the  Maskers.  QqFf. 

14.  Scene  vi.    Pope.     Scene  vii. 
Han. 

Welcome,  gentlemen']  Gentlemen, 
welcome  Han.  Var.  (Corn.)  You're  wel- 
come, gentlemen  Lettsom  conj. 

Welcome. ..toes']  Two  lines,  Ff. 
their  toes]  your  feet  Pope,  &c. 

15.  will  have  a  bout]  Capell.     will 
walke  about  QqFf,  Rowe.    we'll  have 


a  bout  Pope,  &c. 

16.  Ah  ha,  my]  (QJ  Capell.  Ah 
f/iy  QqF,.  A/t  »te,  F^F^F^.  Ah  me,  my 
Rowe,  itc. 

18.  She,]  om.  Pope,  &c.  Lettsom. 
Transferred  to  the  end  of  line  1 7  by 
Steev.  Var.  et  cet.  (Dyce,  Sta.  Cambr.) 

ye]  you  Q^Qj,  Theob.  Warb. 
Var.  et  cet.  (Knt.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Dyce, 
Sta.  Cambr.  Ktly.) 

19.  Welcome]  You're  welcome  Ktly. 
Lettsom  conj.  You  are  welcome  Var. 
et  cet.  (Knt.  Dyce.  Sta.  Clarke,  Cambr.) 

gentlemen]  all,  gentlemen  Pope, 
Ji:c.    you  too,  gentlemen  Capell. 

[Enter  other  guests.  Nicholson 
conj.* 

/  ha7'e]   I've  Pope,  &c. 


[Halliwell  also  gives  the  receipt  in  full  from  '  The  Closet  for  Ladies  and  Gentle- 
men,' which  differs  very  slightly  from  that  given  by  Nares.]    Ed. 

8.  Antony!  and  Potpan]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Throughout  this  scene  Potpan  is  the 
Second  Servant,  as  was  first  observed  by  Capell,  who,  in  his  text,  had  wrongly  intro- 
duced a  Third  Servant,  but  in  his  Notes,  &c.,  writes  as  follows :  '  The  scene's  idea  is 
this:  The  inquirer  after  Potpan  in  7  [the  first  speech]  sees  him  not  though  at  hand; 
nor  hears,  when  what  he  says  is  observ'd  upon  in  words  denoting  resentment  for  the 
reflection  that's  cast  on  him  :  a  second  hurrying  speech  from  the  inquirer,  address'd 
to  different  servants,  closes  with  a  call  to  this  Potpan,  adding  his  other  name;  and 
this  call  he  replies  to  in  "Ay,  boy;  ready,"  '  &c.  vol.  ii,  P.  iv,  pp.  6,  7.  I  differ  only 
slightly  from  Capell  in  punctuation. 

[Capell,  in  his  Errata,  changed  this  Third  Servant  to  Second  Servant.]  Ed. 

14.  gentlemen]  Lettsom.  For  ^gentlemen'  as  a  dissyllable  see  Walker's  Sh.^ , 
Vers.,  &c.,  Art.  xxxiv.      \_Dyce  (ed.  2). 

19.  Welcome,]  Del.  He  here  greets  the  masked  friends  of  Romeo,  who  had 
remained  upon  the  stage,  referring  specially  to  their  masks,  after  having  previously 
welcomed  them  as  dancers. 


72  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [acti,  sc.  ▼. 

That  I  have  worn  a  visor,  and  could  tell  20 

A  whispering  tale  in  a  fair  lady's  ear, 

Such  as  would  please  :  'tis  gone,  'tis  gone,  'tis  gone : — 

You  are  welcome,  gentlemen ! — Come,  musicians,  play. — 

A  hall,  a  hall!  give  lOom!  and  foot  it,  girls. —  \_Mnsic plays, 

and  they  dance. 
More  light,  you  knaves  ;  and  turn  the  tables  up,  2? 

And  quench  the  fire,  the  room  is  grown  too  hot. — 
Ah,  sirrah,  this  unlook'd-for  sport  comes  well. — 
Nay,  sit,  nay,  sit,  good  cousin  Capulet ; 

23,  24.     om.  Pope,  \.c.  (Johns.)  24.     A  hall,  a  hall !'\  A  Hall,  HaU 

23.  You   are'\    You  are  all   Rowe.         Ff,  Rowe.    A  ball,  a  ball.  Johns. 
Ki>M'r^  Johns.  Dyce  I  ed.  2).  [Music....]     QqFf    (after    line    23). 

gentlemen  t  Come,']  gentlemen  Musick.  Dance  forming.  Capell  (after 
come,  Q,.  line  23), 

[Enter  more  guests.   Nicholson  25.    youl   QqF,,   Dyce,  Sta.  WTiite, 

conj.*  Cambr.  j^  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.Var.  et  cet. 

28.     [Drawing  him  a  chair]  Capell. 

24.  A  hall !]  Steev.  This  exclamation  occurs  frequently  in  old  comedies,  and 
signifies  make  room.     In  the  comedy  of  Doctor  Dodypoll,  1600 :   'Room!   room! 

a  hall !  a  hall P     In  Ben  Jonson's  Tale  of  a  Tub:  ' Then  cry,  a  hall!  a  hallP 

In  an  Epithalamium  by  Christopher  Brooke,  in  England's  Helicon,  1614:  'Cry  not 
a  hall,  a  hall ;  but  chamber-roome ;'  and  numberless  other  passages,     [//a/. 

Nares.  As  we  now  say  a  ring  !  a  ring  !  So,  Marston,  Sat.  iii :  'A  hall !  a  hall ! 
Roome  for  the  spheres,  the  orb«  celestiall  Will  dance  Kempe's  jigge.'  \^Sing.  Verp. 
Huds. 

Verp.    King  James,  in  '  Marmion,'  has  made  this  antiquated  phrase  familiar. 

25.  tables]  Steev.  Ancient  tables  were  flat  leaves  joined  by  hinges  and  placed 
on  tressels.  When  they  were  to  be  removed,  they  were  therefore  turned  up.  \^Sing. 
Huds.]  In  Marco  Paolo's  Voyages,  1579  :  'After  dinner  is  done  and  the  tables  taken 
uppe,  everie  man  goeth  aboute  his  businesse,'  In  '  The  Seventh  mery  Jest  of  the 
Wyddow  Edyth,'  1573:  'And  when  that  taken  up^^%  the  borde^  &c.  In  Mande- 
ville's  Travels,  p.  285-6 :  'And  such  playes  of  desport  they  make,  till  the  taking  up 
of  the  boordes.^     [Hal. 

SiNn.  The  phrase  is  sometimes  taken  up.  In  Cavendish's  Life  of  Wolsey,  ed. 
1S25,  p.  198  :  'After  that  the  boards-end  was  taken  up.'' 

28.  Cousin]  RiTSO.v.  A  common  expression  from  one  kinsman  to  another.  Thus 
in  Hamlet,  the  king,  his  uncle  and  step-father,  addresses  him  with  :  '  But  now  my 
ti/usin  Hamlet  and  my  son.'  So  also  in  this  very  play,  III,  i,  151.  [Sing.  Knt. 
Com.  Huds.  Sta.  (subs.) 

M.  Mason.  Sh.  and  other  contemporary  writers  use  this  word  to  denote  any  col- 
lateral relation,  of  whatever  degree,  and  sometimes  even  to  denote  those  of  lineal 
descent.  Richard  III,  during  a  whole  scene,  calls  his  nephew  York  cousin,  who  in 
bis  answer  constantly  calls  him  Uncle.  And  the  old  Duchess  of  York,  in  the  same 
pl-iv.  calls  her  grandson  cousin  :  '  ^^'hy,  my  young  cousin,  it  is  good  to  grow.  York. 
Grandam,  one  night,'  &c.      [A'tit.  Verp. 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  73 

For  you  and  I  are  past  our  dancing  days : 

How  long  is't  now  since  last  yourself  and  I  30 

Were  in  a  mask  ? 

Sec.  Cap.  By'r  Lady,  thirty  years. 

Cap.     What,  man!  'tis  not  so  much,  'tis  not  so  much: 
'Tis  since  the  nuptial  of  Lucentio, 
Come  Pentecost  as  quickly  as  it  will, 
Some  five  and  twenty  years  ;  and  then  we  mask'd.  35 

Sec.  Cap.     'Tis  more,  'tis  more :  his  son  is  elder,  sir ; 
His  son  is  thirty. 

Cap.  Will  you  tell  me  that  ? 

His  son  was  but  a  ward  two  years  ago. 

Rom.     What  lady's  that,  which  doth  enrich  the  hand 
Of  yonder  knight  ?  40 

Serv.     I  know  not,  sir. 

Rom.     O,  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright ! 
It  seems  she  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 

31.     By'r  Lady\  F^.     Berlady  The  ladfsl  Pope,    ladies  Q^.    ladie  is 

rest.  Q3Q4Fi-    ^^^y  ^  FaQsF3F4.  Rowe,  Coll. 

1%.     two\  2.  Q,.    three  (QJ.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  White,  Hal.  Clarke,  Ktly. 

[Juliet  is  taken  out.  Capell.  After  41.     [Company  dance.  Capell. 

this  line  Ktly.  inserts  from  (Q,),  Good  43.     //  seems  sAe}    (Q,)QqF,.     I/er 

youths,  f  faith  I    Oh,  youth's  a  jolly  beauty  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Knt. 

thing!  Camp.  Corn.  Haz.  Verp.  Coll.  (ed.  2), 

39.  To  a  Servant.  Capell,  Dyce  (ed.  White,  Dyce  (ed.  2). 
2).    To  a  Servingman  Cambr. 

31.  By'r  Lady]  S.  Walker  {'Sh.  Vers.'  p.  191).    Pronounced  beer  lady. 
38.  ago]  Steev.   The  next  line  in  (QJ  is  natural  and  worth  preserving. 
Ktly.    It  is  so  natural  and  so  pleasing  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  adopting  it. 

40.  knight]  Mal.  A  proof  that  Sh.  had  the  poem,  and  not  Painter's  novel,  in 
his  mind.  In  the  latter  we  are  told  'A  certaine  lord  of  that  troupe  tooke  Julietta 
by  the  hande  to  daunce.'  In  the  poem,  as  in  the  play,  her  partner  is  a  knight: 
'  With  torche  in  hand  a  comly  knight  did  fetch  her  foorth  to  daunce.' 

Sta.    Romeo's  first  sight  of  Juliet  is  thus  quaintly  described  in  the  old  poem : 

'  At  length  he  saw  a  mayd,  right  fayre  of  perfect  shape. 
Which  Theseus  or  Paris  would  have  chosen  to  their  rape. 
Whom  erst  he  never  sawe,  of  all  she  pleasde  him  most ; 
Within  himselfe  he  sayd  to  her,  thou  justly  mayst  thee  boste 
Of  perfit  shapes  renoune,  and  beauties  sounding  prayse. 
Whose  like  ne  hath,  ne  shalbe  seene,  ne  liveth  in  our  dayes. 
And  whilset  he  fixed  on  her  his  partial!  perced  eye, 
His  former  love,  for  which  of  late  he  ready  was  to  dye. 
Is  nowe  as  quite  forgotte,  as  it  had  never  been.' 

43.  It  seems]  Speev.   Sh.  has  the  same  thought  in  his  27th  Sonrrt  . 
7 


74  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  i'act  i,  sc.  ▼. 

Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiop's  ear; 

Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear !  45 

44.     Like'\  As  QqF,,  Knt.  Sta.  Ethiofs^  Ethiope  s  Cambr. 

Which,  like  a  jewel  hung  in  ghastly  night. 

Makes  black  night  beauteous,  and  her  old  face  new.'     \Sing.  Huds.  Ktiy. 

The  repetition  of  the  word  beauty,  in  the  next  line  but  one,  confirms  the  emenda- 
tion of  P\.     \^Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Knt.  Why  then,  it  may  be  asked,  do  we  depart  from  our  usual  principle  and 
reject  an  undoubted  ancient  reading?  Hecause  the  reading  which  we  give  has  be- 
come familiar,  has  passed  into  common  use  wherever  our  language  is  spoken,  is 
quoted  in  books  as  frequently  as  any  of  the  other  examples  of  Sh.'s  exquisite  power 
of  description.  Here,  it  appears  to  us,  is  a  higher  law  to  be  observed  than  that  of 
adherence  to  the  ancient  copies.     It  is  the  same  also  in  I,  i,  146. 

Coll.  (ed.  i).  We  adhere  to  the  authentic,  and  perfectly  intelligible,  text,  as 
contained  in  every  impression  during  the  author's  life. 

Del.  {'Lex.')  Juliet's  beauty  is  only  first  spoken  of  in  line  45.  The  boldness  of 
the  simile  led  the  poet  to  introduce  it  by  '  it  seems.' 

Ulr.  The  reading  of  F,  is  an  improvement,  although  it  has  no  authority,  and  is 
therefore  not  to  be  adopted.  The  succeeding  phrase,  '  Beauty  too  rich,'  seems  to 
demand  that  a  similar  word  should  precede  it.  On  the  other  hand,  it  weakens  the 
otherwise  very  bold  and  almost  forced  image  of  hanging  on  the  cheek  of  night. 

Corn.  \_'//er  beauty^  is  now  so  consecrated  by  general  approval  that  it  would  be 
both  useless  and  ungracious  to  attempt  to  supersede  it.  The  most  rigid  sticklers  for 
the  authority  of  F^  have  found  it  necessarj',  in  very  many  cases,  to  prefer  the  read- 
ings of  the  Qq,  and  in  some  comparatively  few  instances  those  of  F^.  The  reason 
is  this :  we  know,  unfortunately,  as  far  as  the  matter  is  susceptible  of  proof,  that 
none  of  Sh.'s  plays  were  published  under  his  own  superintendence;  we  know  also, 
in  reference  to  all  the  earlier  copies,  that  typographical  errors,  stage  omissions  or 
interpolations,  the  want  of  regular  editing,  and  other  causes,  have  contributed  to 
obscure,  and,  not  unfrequently,  to  destroy  the  poet's  meaning;  it  is,  therefore,  in  no 
irreverent  spirit  (as  is  too  often  inculcated),  but  rather  from  a  feeling  of  duty  and 
gratitude,  that  even  the  most  cautious  commentators  have  felt  themselves  compelled 
to  depart  from  the  principle  of  taking  anyone  edition  as  an  invariable  guide.  Fiom 
two  or  three  in.stances  selected  in  the  present  play  from  numerous  others,  merely  as 
illustrations  of  the  general  fact,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  reviser,  who  should  in  every 
case  adopt  the  readings  of  F,,  would  bring  upon  his  devol;d  head  the  merited  an- 
athema of  every  Shaksperian  reader.  We  Jiavc  not,  however,  presumed  to  vary  from 
the  text  without  anxious  consideration  and  constant  reference  to  those  commentators 
who  have  shown  the  le.ist  disposition  to  innovate  either  as  to  words  or  versification. 

Vi'.KP.  So  much  is  gained  in  poetic  beauty  by  the  reading  of  F^,  and  the  o*.he» 
reading  is  so  tame  in  expression,  and  so  little  in  Sh.'s  manner,  whose  faults  of  lan- 
guage are  never  on  that  side,  that  it  seems  quite  probable  that  this  was  a  correction 
of  the  poet's  own,  oI)tained  from  some  other  MS.,  altered  during  the  poet's  life.  Tt 
K,  besides,  confirmed  by  the  repetition  of  the  word  '  beauty'  in  line  45. 

Dyce  (ed.  l).  The  reading  of  Y^,  however  it  may  be  regarded  as  an  impiove- 
mcnt,  has  not  a  shadow  of  a  claim  to  be  received  into  the  text. 

Con  .  (ed.  2).   The  usual  reading  of  F,  has  been  tame  and  poor. 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.j  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  75 

So  shows  a  snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows, 

As  yonder  lady  o'er  her  fellows  shows. 

The  measure  done,  I'll  watch  her  place  of  stand, 

White.  Tlie  great  gain  in  poetic  beauty  hy  the  reading  of  F^  does  not  justify  a 
deviation  from  the  authoritative  text,  though  it  may  tempt  to  it.  But  in  this  pa.ssage 
all  the  old  copies  come  evidently  from  one  source ;  and  in  this  play,  as  in  some 
others,  the  authority  of  the  folio  is  impaired,  although  its  authenticity  as  a  whole 
cannot  be  impeached ;  while  in  the  context  there  is  ground  for  believing  that  the 
editor  of  the  second  folio — a  contemporary  of  Shakespeare — restored  the  true  read- 
ing. Steevens  might  have  put  the  case  much  more  strongly;  for  in  line  45  '  beauty' 
is  a  dependent  word,  and  the  clause  which  begins  with  it  an  entirely  dependent 
clause.  Unless  '  beauty'  occur  in  the  first  clause  of  the  sentence  as  the  apponent  of 
'beauty'  in  the  second,  the  latter  cannot  be  construed,  1  will  not  say  according  to 
grammatical  rule  and  precedent,  but  so  as  to  preserve  that  rational  coherence  of 
thought,  the  necessity  of  which  underlies  all  grammatical  rules,  and  which  Sh.,  in 
his  freest  style,  never  violates.  Therefore,  having  this  contemporary  change  of  a 
reading  wdiich,  if  undisturbed,  would  leave  a  unique  and  derogatory  blemish  upon 
Sh.'s  page, — a  change,  too,  which  seems  not  to  add  a  grace,  but  to  preser\'e  one  by 
the  mere  restoration  of  grammatical  integrity  to  the  passage, — I  believe  that  tlie  elder 
copies  have  in  this  case,  as  in  some  others,  but  perpetuated  an  error  committed  in 
the  earliest  impression,  and  I  adopt  the  reading  of  Y^,  not  upon  the  authority  of  tliat 
text,  but  upon  the  internal  evidence  of  the  context,  supported  by  the  inherent  merits 
of  tlie  emendation.  All  editors  of  the  present  century  have  hitherto  deferred  to  the 
authority  of  the  elder  copies. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  reading  of  F^  (whencesoever  the  editor  of  that  folio  may  have 
procured  it)  is  assuredly  a  great  improvement. 

Gerald  Massey  ('5/4. 'j  Sonnets,'  Sec,  Lond.  1866,  p.  470).  I  fancy  that  Sh.  was 
working  a  good  deal  from  the  life  and  the  love  of  his  friends  [Southampton's  love 
for  Elizabeth  Vernon]  when  he  wrote  this  play ;  the  Queen's  opposition  to  their  mar- 
riage standing  in  the  place  of  that  ancient  enmity  of  the  two  Houses,  There  is 
much  of  Southampton's  character  and  fate  in  Romeo  the  unlucky,  doomed  to  be 
crossed  in  his  dearest  wishes,  whose  name  was  writ  in  sour  Misfortune's  book.  .  .  . 
There  are  expressions  pointing  to  the  lady  of  the  early  Sonnets  as  being  in  the  poet's 
mind  when  he  was  thinking  of  Juliet.  A  remarkable  image  in  the  27th  Sonnet  is 
also  made  use  of  in  Romeo's  first  exclamation  on  seeing  Juliet  for  the  first  time. 
Considering  who  the  Sonnets  were  written  for,  this  figure  reappears  in  too  pointed  a 
way  not  to  have  some  suggestive  significance.  Looked  at  in  this  light,  the  question 
of  Juliet,  'Art  thou  not  Romeo  and  a  Montague?'  comes  upon  us  with  luminous 
foice;  for  the  fact  is,  that  Southampton  was  a  Montague  by  the  mother's  side,  she 
being  Mary,  daughter  of  Anthony  Browne,  fair  Viscount  Montague,  which  fact  calls 
to  mind  what  has  always  seemed  a  little  bit  of  the  Nurse's  nonsense  in  II,  iv,  19c 
[which  see]. 

Clarke.  Inasmuch  as  the  expression  of  the  authentic  copies  is  not  only  intelligi- 
ble, but  is  one  that  Sh.  has  used  elsewhere,  we  feel  bound  to  retain  it.  In  other 
passages  of  description  we  find  '  it  seems'  and  '  it  seem'd'  thus  used :  Tempest,  I, 
ii;  Lear,  IV,  iii,  and  Winter's  Tale,  V,  ii. 

44.  Ethiop's  ear]  Holt  White.  In  Lyly's  Euphues :  '  A  fair  pearl  in  a  Mo 
rian's  car.'      [Sin^. 


76  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  I,  sc.  v. 

And,  touching  hers,  make  blessed  my  rude  hand. 

Did  my  heart  love  till  now?  forswear  it,  sight!  50 

For  I  ne'er  saw  true  beauty  till  this  night. 

Tyb.     This,  by  his  voice,  should  be  a  Montague. — 
Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy. — What !  dares  the  slave 
Come  hither,  cover'd  with  an  antic  face. 

To  fleer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity?  55 

Now,  by  the  stock  and  honour  of  my  kin, 
To  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 

Cap.     Why,  how  now,  kinsman  !  wherefore  storm  you  so  i 

Tyb.     Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe ; 
A  villain,  that  is  hither  come  in  spite,  60 

To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  night. 

Cap.     Young  R.om.eo  is  it  ? 

Tyb.  'Tis  he,  that  villain  Romeo. 

Cap.     Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  him  alone, 
He  bears  him  like  a  portly  gentleman ; 

49.     bUssed'\   kappy  (QJ   Pope,   &c.  [Exit  boy]  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Var.  (Corn.)  Klly.  54.     antic'\    antick   Rowe.      antique 

51.     For  I  ne'er]    For  I  nere  Qq  QqFf. 

{ne're  Q^).     For  I  never  Ff.     /  never  58.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

(Q,),  Pope,  &c.  Coll.  Ulr.  Huds.  \Vhite,  62.     Jiopieo  is  it .?]   Romeo  is  it.  Q, 

Hal.  Q^Q^.     Romeo,  is  it ?  Ql^.    Romeo,  is" t) 

II.      What!   dares]    Theob.      What  Pope,  &c.  Capell.      Rotneo   is't?   Var. 

dares  Q^QjQ^Ff,  Pope,  Capell,  Cambr.  Knt.  Del.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Ktly. 

What  f  dares  Qj.     What,  dares  Dyce,  '  Tis  he]  om.  Pope,  &c.  (Johns. ) 

Clarke.  64.     He]  (Q,)  Rowe.    A  QqFf. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  This  same  thought  probably  suggested  to  Habington:  '  So  rich  with 
jewels  hung,  that  night  Doth  like  an  Ethiop  bride  appear.' 

54.  an  antic  face]  Del.  Tybalt  refers  to  the  mask  which  Romeo  had  donned,  a 
grinning  face  such  as  merry-andrews  wear. 

55.  solemnity]  Hunter.  So  in  Macbeth,  '  Tonight  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,'  a 
banquet,  a  high  festival.     \_Sin^.]     So  in  Ariosto,  as  translated  by  Harington  ' 

'  Nor  never  did  young  lady  brave  and  bright 
Like  dancing  better  00  a  toUmn  day.' 

This  application  of  the  word  solemn  is  a  relic  of  the  sentiment  of  remote  ages,  when 
there  was  something  of  the  religious  feeling  connected  with  all  high  festivals  and 
banquetings.  The  history  of  the  word  solemn  would  form  an  interesting  philolog:ica] 
article,  presenting  as  it  does  so  many  phases  in  succession. 

62.  Young  Romeo  is  it  ?]  Mommse.v.  This  is  no  question  of  Capulet,  but  an 
assertion,  at  the  moment  of  recognition,  characteristically  quick  and  decided. 

64.  portly]  Clarke.  This  word,  in  our  day,  in  addition  to  the  sense  of '  dignity,' 
comprises  somewhat  of  large  and  cumbrous ;  which  formerly  it  did  not  necessarily 
include. 


KCT  h  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  "J  J 

And,  to  say  truth,  Verona  brags  of  him  65 

To  be  a  virtuous  and  well-govern'd  youth  : 

I  would  not  for  the  wealth  of  all  this  town 

Here  in  my  house  do  him  disparagement : 

Therefore  be  patient,  take  no  note  of  him : 

It  is  my  will,  the  which  if  thou  respect,  JO 

Show  a  fair  presence  and  put  off  these  frowns, 

An  ill-beseeming  semblance  for  a  feast. 

Tyb.     It  fits,  when  such  a  villain  is  a  guest : 
I'll  not  endure  him. 

Cap.  He  shall  be  endured  : 

What,  goodman  boy!     I  say,  he  shall :  go  to  ;  7S 

Am  I  the  master  here,  or  you  ?  go  to. 
You'll  not  endure  him !     God  shall  mend  my  soul, — 
You'll  make  a  mutiny  among  my  guests ! 
You  will  set  cock-a-hoop  !  you'll  be  the  man ! 

67.     //Jw]  M,?  Ff,  Rowe,  Dyce  (ed.  I).  76.     Go  to.  Am...you  ?     Coll.  (MSj. 

72.     ill-beseeming]   Hyphen  by  Pope.  78.     myl  Qq.     the  Ff. 

for']  of  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  79.     set]  set  a  Q^Qj-  sit  Johns. 

79.  cock-a-hoop]  Nares.  Cock-on-hoop,  or  cock-a-hoop.  The  derivation  of 
this  familiar  expression  has  been  disputed.  See  Todd.  I  can  add  one  example  of 
its  being  used  as  if  to  mark  profuse  waste,  by  laying  the  cock  of  the  barrel  on  thi 
hoop.  '  The  cock-on-hoop  is  set.  Hoping  to  drink  their  lordships  out  of  debt.' 
Honest  Ghost,  p.  26.  \_Knt.  and  Sta.  (subs.)]  Ben  Jonson  also  seems  to  show  that 
he  so  understood  it,  and  his  authority  is  of  weight.  As  an  example  of  the  prepo- 
sition of,  by  which  he  there  means  off,  he  gives  this :  '  Take  the  cock  of  [off]  the 
hoop.' — Engl.  Gram.  ch.  vi.  But  it  must  be  owned  that  the  usage  is  rot  always 
consistent  with  that  origin. 

Knt.  The  origin  of  this  phrase,  which  appears  always  to  be  used  in  the  sense  of 
hasty  and  violent  excess,  is  very  doubtful.  [According  to  Nares]  the  uninterrupted 
flow  of  the  ale  led  to  intemperance. 

Sta.  a  phrase  of  very  doubtful  origin.  I  rather  suppose  it  to  refer  in  some  way 
to  the  boastful,  provocative  crowing  of  the  cock,  but  can  find  nothing  explanatory  of 
its  meaning  in  any  author. 

White.  The  notion  [which  has  been  advanced  by  Nares]  seems  to  me  puerile. 
It  is  better  to  confess  ignorance  than  to  be  content  with  such  caricature  of  know- 
ledge. May  not  the  phrase  have  been  originally  '  cock-a-whoop'  ?  the  fitness  of 
which  phrase  to  express  arrogant  boasting  is  plain  enr  ugh. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Ray  gives  '  To  set  cock  on  hoop,'  and  remarks  :  '  This  is  spoken 
of  a  Prodigal,  one  that  takes  out  the  spigget,  and  lays  it  upon  the  top  [or  hoop]  of 
the  barrel,  drawing  out  the  whole  vessel  without  any  intermission.' — Proverbs,  p. 
183,  ed.  1768.  Gifford  (Note  on  Jonson' s  Works,  vol.  vi,  p.  226)  describes  it  as 
'a  chrase  denoting  the  excess  of  mirth  and  jollity,'  and  ♦  suspects  that  it  had  a  more 
aignified  origin'  than  that  just  quoted  from  Ray.  But  it  also  was  applied,  as  in  our 
7* 


78  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  I,  sc.  v. 

Tyb.     Why,  uncle,  'tis  a  shame. 

Cap.  Ga  to.  goto;  8o 

Vou  arc  a  saucy  boy: — is't  so,  indeed? — 
This  trick  may  chance  to  scathe  you, — I  know  what. 
You  must  conXxzxY  me!  marr>',  'tis  time. — 
Well  said,  my  hearts  ! — You  are  a  princox  ;  go  : 

Si.     u7]  Vw  F^FjF^,  Rowc.   /// Ca-  S2     jtW/5<f]  jcd/^  Var.  (Corn.  Ilai  ) 

pell,  Var.  et  cet.  (Dyce,  Sta.  Cambr.)  Knt.  Coll.  Huds.  Del.  White,  Ktly. 


text,  to  insolence  of  language  or  bearing ;  and  accordingly  Coles  (who  seems  to 
refer  it  to  the  bird  cock)  has  'To  be  Cock-a-hoop,  Amptillari,  insolesco,  r^iat 
trigere.' — Lat.  and  Eng.  Diet. 

In  N.  AND  Qi;.,  2d  Ser.,  vol.  v,  p.  426,  the  phrase  '  to  sit  cock  in  the  hoop'  is  cited 
by  •  P.  II.  F.'  from  I'hilpots'  Remains. 

Si.  Is't  so,  indeed?]  Ulr,  Tins  is  an  answer  to  some  remark  of  one  of  the 
guests,  and  so  also  the  words,  '  I  know  what,'  in  the  next  line,  are  an  interrupted 
answer  or  address  to  a  guest. 

52.  to  scathe  you]  Steev.  I.e.,  to  do  you  an  injury.  \^Sing.  Knt.  Coll.  Has. 
Verp.  Huds.  Sta. 

BoswEi.L.   It  still  has  this  meaning  in  Scotland.     [Sing. 

Nares.  The  substantive  usually  rhymes  to  bath,  the  verb  to  bathe. 

53,  contrary  me]  Steev.  The  use  of  this  verb  is  common  in  old  wntcrs.  In 
Tully's  Love,  by  Greene,  1616 :  '  Ra'.her  wishing  to  die  than  to  contrary  her  resolu- 
tion.' Many  instances  might  be  selected  from  Sidney's  Arcadia.  [A'»/.]  In  War- 
ner's Albion's  England,  1602,  b.  x,  c.  59:  •  —  his  countermand  should  have  contra- 
ried  so.''  The  same  verb  is  used  in  Arthur  Hall's  version  of  the  eighth  Iliad,  410, 
1 58 1,  and  in  North's  '  Plutarch.'     {Hal. 

84.  Well  said]  White.   That  is,  well  done. 

84.  princox]  Steev.    A  coxcomb,  a  conceited  person.     \^Knt.  Coll.  Ilaz.  Sra 
Dyce."]     In  The  Return  from  Parnassus,  1606:  'Your  proud  University /rT'«r<?r.' 
[Huds. 

Nares.  a  pert,  forward  youth;  probably  corrupted  from  the  Latin  fracox. 
\_Sing.'\  See  Johnson.  The  Cambridge  Diet.  (1693)  has:  'Princock,  Ephebus, 
puer  praecox.'     Also  as  an  adjective. 

Huds.  Minshew  calls  a  princox  '  a  ripe-headed  yoimg  boy,'  and  derives  it  fron- 
prcecox.  The  more  probable  derivation  is  from  prinu  cock  ;  that  is,  a  cod  of  prime 
courage  or  spirit ;  hence  applied  to  a  pert,  conceited,  forward  person.  In  Phaer's 
Virgil :  'Fyne  princox,  fresh  of  face,  furst  uttring  youth  by  buds  unshome.' 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Skinner  says  from  pracox,  but  in  Richardson's  Diet,  the  tr.y- 
mology  given  is  a  prime  cock.  Florio  translates  herba  da  btioi  '  a  prime-cock  boy,  a 
freshman,  a  novice.' 

Halliwell.  Brockett  has  princox  as  still  in  use,  and  princy-cock  is  given  by 
Carr,  ii,  58.  •  If  bee  bee  a  little  bookish,  let  him  write  but  the  commendation  of  a 
flea,  straight  begs  he  the  copjpie,  kissing,  hugging,  grinning,  and  smiling,  till  lice 
make  the  yong  princocks  as  proud  as  a  pecocke.' — Lcd^'e's  Wits  Miserie,  1 596. 

CoLtKlDGE  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  ii,p.  154).  How  admirable  is\he  old  man's  impetu- 
osity, at  once  contrasting,  yet  harmonized  with  young  Tybalt's  quarrelsome  vioienc* 


I 


ACT  I,  SC.  v.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


79 


Be  quiet,  or — More  light,  more  light ! — for  shame  !  85 

I'll  make  you  quiet.     What ! — Cheerly,  my  hearts  ! 

Tyb.     Patience  perforce  with  wilful  choler  meeting 
Makes  my  flesh  tremble  in  their  different  greeting. 
I  will  withdraw:  but  this  intrusion  shall,  89 

Now  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  gall.  Exit. 

Rom.  [To  Juliet]     If  I  profane  with  my  unworthiest  hand 
This  holy  shrine,  the  gentle  fine  is  this, 
My  lips,  two  blushing  pilgrims,  ready  stand 
To  smooth  that  rough  touch  with  a  tender  kiss. 


85.  or — More. .. shame  !'\  or  {ntore... 
shame')  Q  ,  Pope,  &c.  or  more. ..light 
for  shame,  Q^QjQ.F,.  or  more  light, 
for  shame,  F^F  F^.  or  more  light,  for 
shame;  Rowe. 

light  .'—for']  light,  for  Capell, 
Var.  Huds.  light. — For  Knt.  Com. 
light ! — For  Dyce.  light :  for  Sta. 
light  I    For  Cambr. 

86.  IVhat !—Cheerly']Q.?c^&\\.  What, 
cheerly  Rowe,  Dyce  (ed.  l),  Clarke, 
Camhr. 

89,  90.  shall,... sweet,']  shall  Now- 
teeming  sweet  Lettsom  conj. 

bitter]     bittrest     Q,.       bitterest 


Cambr.  (Lettsom). 

[Exit.]  om.  F,F3F^. 

[Dance  ends.     Juliet    retires   to   her 
Seat.  Capell. 

91.  [To  Juliet]  Rowe.     drawing  up 
to  her,  and  taking  her  Hand.  Capell. 

unworthiest]  unworthy  (Q  ) 
Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Har.  Sing.  Camp. 
Corn.  Haz.  Ktly. 

92.  fine]    Theob.  (Warb.)      sin  Q^ 
QjFf,  Knt.  (ed.  i),  Ulr.  Del.  Sta.    sinrt' 

is  this]  be  this  Han. 

93.  two]  to  Fj. 

ready]  did  ready  Q^Q-Q.!',. 


But  it  would  be  endless  to  repeat  observations  of  this  sort.  Every  leaf  is  different  on 
an  oak  tree ;  but  still  we  can  only  say,  our  tongues  defrauding  our  eyes,  This  is 
another  oak  leaf !     \_Huds. 

87.  Patience  perforce]  Steev.  This  expression  is  part  proverbial.  The  old 
adage  is,  '•Patience  perforce  is  a  medicine  for  a  mad  dog'  ['or  mad  ho*-se.'  Nares]. 
[Sing. 

Nares.  A  proverbial  expression,  when  some  evil  which  cannot  be  remedied  is  to 
be  borne.  Ray's  Prov.,  p.  145.  Also  Howell,  p.  9  b.  Fuller  has  it  '  upon  force.' 
which  is  a  modernism. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  A  proverbial  phrase,  meaning  compulsory  submission.  We  meet 
it  m  Heywood's  'Woman  Killed  with  Kindness.'  There  was  a  herb  called  Patience, 
mentioned  in  »  Look  about  you,'  l6cx),  and  in  '  Northward  Ho  !'  1607. 

Sta.  From  the  old  adage,  ^Patience  upon  force,'  &c. 

90.  to  bitter  gall]  Lettsom.  I  conceive  ^ sweet'  to  be  a  substantive,  and  'con- 
vert' an  active  verb.     [_Dyce  (ed.  2). 

92.  gentle  fine]  Warburton.  All  profanations  are  supposed  to  be  expiate! 
either  by  some  meritorious  action  or  by  some  penance  undergone,  and  punishmeni 
submitted  to.  So  Romeo  would  here  say.  If  I  have  been  profane  in  the  rude  touch 
of  my  hand,  my  lips  stand  ready,  as  two  blushing  pilgrims,  to  take  off  that  offence, 
to  atone  for  it  by  a  sweet  penance.     \_Knt.  Dyce,  White. 

Coll.    Sin   for   '  fine'    is   an  easy  misprint,   when  sin   was  written   sinne  with 


8c  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  i,  sc.  v 

jful.      Good  pilgrim,  you  do  wrong  your  hand  too  much,     95 
Which  mannerly  devotion  shows  in  this ; 

95.     One  line,  Qq.    Two,  Ff,  Rowe. 

a  long  s.  Sin  scarcely  affords  sense,  while  ♦  fine'  has  a  clear  meaning.  [  Verp. 
Huds. 

Ulr.  Warburton's  correction  is  needless, — nay,  it  disturbs  the  connection.  •  Gertie' 
formerly  signified  not  only  'noble,'  'distinguished,'  &c.,  but  sometimes  also  'fious.' 
\^jromm'\  (e.  g.  3  Hen  VI :  I,  iv,  where  '  gentle-hearted'  stands  for  '  pious-hearted'). 
Romeo  says  in  effect :  '  If  I  by  the  touch  of  my  unworthy  hand  profane  this  shrine 
(Altar,  Reliquary),  it  is  the  pious  sin' — namely,  of  the  pilgrims,  who  journey  to  holy 
places  for  the  very  purpose  of  touching  the  relics,  or  rather,  as  was  customary,  of 
kissing  them.  And  following  out  the  same  train  of  thought,  he  adds  that  his  lips 
were  therefore  ready  by  a  tender  kiss  to  smooth  this  '  rough'  (unusual,  irreverent) 
touch.  That  '  romeo'  in  Italian  signifies  a  pilgrim  is  evident  from  the  Ixst  sonnet  but 
one  of  Dante's  '  Vita  nuova.'  It  is  there  remarked  that  Pilgrims  were  styled  '  Pal- 
mieri,'  inasmuch  as  they  came  over  the  sea  (of  course  to  Palestine),  whence  they 
brought  bac'K  Palms.  Those  on  the  other  hand  who  went  to  the  tomb  of  St.  James 
in  Galicia  [Santiago  de  Compostela]  were  called  '  Pelligrini,'  and  those  who  went 
to  Rome  '  Romei.'  My  honored  friend  Blanc,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  this 
information,  adds  that  the  later  Italian  writers  do  not  retain  these  distinctions. 
For  instance,  Giov.  Villani  designates  by  the  name  of  '  romeo'  one  who  comes  from 
St.  James.  Franco  Sacchetti  and  others  use  th's  word  generally  for  all  pilgrims. 
Dante's  remark  shows  us  why  Romeo  chose  a  pilgrim's  mask,  and  throws  light  also 
upon  the  '  palmers,*  of  whom  Juliet  speaks  ;  and  it  proves  also  that  Sh.  understood 
more  Italian  than  the  learned  writer  in  The  Quarterly  Review,  who  lately  ques- 
tioned whether  '  rorteo'  have  the  meaning  of  pilgrim. 

Quarterly  Re^'.  (vol.  Ixxxi,  p.  524,  1847).  Romeo  is  the  familiar  contraction 
of  Romualdo,  the  famous  Lombard  name,  which,  though  sometimes  derived  from 
the  Teutonic,  may  perhaps  have  been  a  corruption  of  Romulus,  but  never  could  have 
meant  a  pilgrim. 

Del.  Romeo,  in  taking  Juliet's  hand,  says,  in  reference  to  that  hand  :  If  I  with 
my  unworthy  hand  profane  this  holy  shrine,  it  is  (a  sin  in  truth  but)  the  gentle  sin. 
If  the  emendation  a  gentle  sin  or  the  gentlest  sin  were  allowed,  there  would  be  no 
difliculty  in  the  passage.  The  idea  of  the  sin  is  also  kept  up  in  the  succeeding  dia- 
logue, and  the  word  sin  in  line  105  is  used  in  manifest  reference  to  this  place. 

[Substantially  the  same  note  as  in  Del.  *  Lexikon.'] 

95.  pilgrim]  Halliwell.  The  subjoined  engraving,  from  a  sketch  by  Inigo 
Jones,  presents  us  with  the  Palmer's,  or  Pilgrim's,  dress  worn  by  Romeo  in  this 
scene.  It  is  the  usual  costume  of  such  personages,  consisting  of  a  long  loose  gown, 
or  robe,  with  large  sleeves,  and  a  round  cape  covering  the  breast  and  shoulders ;  a 
broad-leafed  hat,  turned  up  in  front  and  fastened  to  the  crown  by  a  button,  appar- 
ently, if  it  be  not  intended  for  a  small  cockle-shell,  the  absence  of  which  customary 
badge  would  otherwise  be  the  only  remarkable  circumstance  in  the  drawing.  In 
the  left  hand  of  the  figure  is  the  bourdon,  or  staff,  peculiar  to  pilgrims.  The  modem 
representatives  of  Romeo  have  inaccurately  carried  a  cross.  In  the  text  of  the  play 
the  only  indication  of  his  being  in  a  Pilgrim's  habit  is  derived  from  Juliet's  address- 
ing him,  *  Good  Pilerim,'  &c.     The  drawing  is  therefore  most  interesting  authority 


ACT  I.  sc.  V.I  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  8 1 

For  saints  have  hands  that  pilgrims'  hands  do  touch, 
And  palm  to  palm  is  holy  palmers'  kiss. 
Royn.     Have  not  saints  lips,  and  holy  palmers  too  ? 
jfitl.  Ay,  pilgrim,  lips  that  they  must  use  in  prayer.       icx) 

Rom.     O,  then,  dear  saint,  let  lips  do  what  hands  do ; 

They  pray,  grant  thou,  lest  faith  turn  to  despair. 
jhil.      Saints  do  not  move,  though  grant  for  prayers'  sake. 
Rom.     Then  move  not,  while  my  prayer's  effect  I  take. 

Thus  from  my  lips  by  thine  my  sin  is  purged.  105 

[Kissmg  her. 

97.     hands  that\  Cl^.    hands,  that  Q^  They  fray:  Whiit. 
QjQ^FjF^.   hands,  the¥^^.  hands— the  103.     One  line,  Qq.    Two,  FT. 

Rowe.  thoiigh'\  yet  Pope,  &c. 

hands  do\  hand,  doY^^^.  hand  104.    prayer's...!  take'\Q,2i^&\\.  pray 

do  Rowe.  ers...I  take  QqF^,  Pope,  &c.    prayers... 

100.     use  m]  use — in  Huds.  doe  take  F^F  F^,   Rowe.     prayers'... .2 

loi.     hands  do;]    hands   do,   QqFf,  Az-^^' Warb.  Knt.  Ktly. 
Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  White.  105.     thinel  yours  (QJ  Capell,  Var. 

102.      They  pray, 1  Q^F^.     They  pray  Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly. 
The  rest.    They  pray;  Han.  Corn.  Huds.  [Kissing  her.]  Rowe. 

for  the  actor;  and  it  is  probable  that  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  and  the  '  five  or  six  mask- 
ers' were  also  attired  in  similar  dresses,  as  at  this  period  the  parties  attending  such 
entertainments  appeared  generally  in  sets  of  6  or  8  shepherds,  wild-men,  pilgrims, 
or  other  characters,  preceded  by  their  torch-bearers,  music,  and  sometimes,  as  Ben- 
volio intimates,  '  a  cupid  hoodwinked  with  a  scarf,'  &c.,  or  some  other  allegorical 
personage,  to  speak  a  prologue,  or  introductory  oration,  setting  forth  the  assumed 
characters  and  purpose  of  the  maskers. — J.  R.  Plane hk. 

loi.  hands  do]  M.  Mason.  Juliet  had  said  before  that  *  palm  to  palm  was  holy 
palmers'  kiss.'  She  afterwards  says  that  '  palmers  have  lips  that  they  must  use  in 
prayer.'  Romeo  replies,  that  the  prayer  of  his  lips  was,  that  they  might  do  ivha\ 
hattds  do,  that  is,  that  they  might  kiss.     \_Sing. 

White.  It  has  been  the  custom  hitherto  to  place  a  semicolon  after  '  do'  at  the 
end  of  the  line.  '  O  then,'  answers  Romeo,  '  they  [i.  e.  lips]  pray  that  they  may  do 
what  hands,  or  palms,  do :  grant  thou  this,'  &c. ;  the  fine  point  of  which  is  lost  by 
closing  the  sense  at '  what  hands  do,'  and  reading  antithetically,  '  They  pray,  grant 
thou,'  &c.,  in  the  next  line. 

101^.  Kissing  her]  Malone,  Sh.  here,  without  doubt,  copied  from  the  mode 
of  his  own  time ;  and  kissing  a  lady  in  a  public  assembly,  we  may  conclude,  was 
not  thought  indecorous.  In  King  Henry  VIII,  he,  in  like  manner,  makes  Lord 
Sands  kiss  Anne  Boleyn,  next  to  whom  he  sits  at  the  supper  given  by  Cardinal 
Wolsey.     \_Sing.  Huds. 

White  \jSh.  Scholar''\.  I  have  never  seen  a  Juliet  upon  the  stage  who  appeared 
to  appreciate  the  archness  of  the  dialogue  with  Romeo  in  this  scene.  They  go 
tlirough  it  solemnly,  or,  at  best,  with  staid  propriety.  They  reply  literally  to  all 
Romeo's  speeches  about  saints  and  palmers.  But  it  should  be  noticed  that,  though 
this  is  the  first  interview  of  the  lovers,  we  do  not  hear  tliem  speak  until  the  close  of 

F 


82  RO^TEO   AND   JULIET.  \Kcn  i.  sc.  *. 

jfuL  Then  have  my  lips  the  sin  that  they  have  took. 

Rom.     Sin  from  my  hps  ?     O  trespass  sweetly  urged ! 
Give  me  my  sin  again. 

jfitl.  You  kiss  by  the  book. 

Nurse.     Madam,  your  mother  craves  a  word  with  you. 

Rom.     What  is  her  mother  ? 

Nurse.  Marry,  bachelor,  i  lo 

Her  mother  is  the  lady  of  the  house, 
And  a  good  lady,  and  a  wise,  and  virtuous : 
I  nursed  her  daughter,  that  you  talk'd  withal ; 
I  tell  you,  he  that  can  lay  hold  of  her 
Shall  have  the  chinks. 

Rom.  Is  she  a  Capulet  115 

O  dear  account !  my  life  is  my  foe's  debt. 

106.     they  have]  late  they  Pope,  &c.  no.     [To  her  Nurse.  Pope,  &c. 

108.     «■«]  >fw.f  Capell.  1x3.     tcilk'dl    talkt    QqF,,    Theob. 

[Kissing  her  again.  Capell,  Coll.  Warb.  talke  F,.  talk  F  F^,  Rowe,  Pope, 

(ed.  2)(MS.)  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Han. 

by  the"]  {(^^).   Mh  Qq.    3/ ///' F,  115.     chmis'\  chtncie  Rowe  (ed.  2).* 

F,.    6y  tV  FjF^,  Rowe,  &c.   f  tK  \Vhite.  chink  Pope,  &c. 

their  dialogue,  in  which  they  have  arrived  at  a  pretty  thorough  understanding  of 
their  mutual  feeling.  Juliet  makes  a  feint  of  parrying  Romeo's  advances,  but  does 
it  archly,  and  knows  that  he  is  to  have  the  kiss  he  sues  for.  He  asks,  '  Have  not 
saints  lips  and  holy  palmers  too?'  The  stage  Juliet  answers  with  literal  solemnity. 
But  it  was  not  a  conventicle  at  old  Capulet's.  Juliet  was  not  holding  forth.  How 
demure  is  her  real  answer :  '  Ay,  pilgrim,  lips  that  they  must  use —  in  prayer !'  And 
when  Romeo  fairly  gets  her  into  the  corner,  towards  which  she  has  been  contriving 
to  be  driven,  and  he  says, '  Thus  from  my  lips,  by  thine,  my  sin  is  purged,'  and  does 
put  them  to  that  purgation,  how  slyly  the  pretty  puss  gives  him  the  opportunity  to 
repeat  the  penance  by  replying,  *  Then  have  my  lips  the  sin  that  they  have  took !' 
IHuds. 

108.  by  the  book]  Ulr.  The  lyric  strain  which  marks  not  only  this  dialogue, 
but  almost  all  the  speeches  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  recalls,  by  its  alternate  rhymes 
and  careful  structure  of  the  rhythm,  the  Italian  erotic  poesie  so  much  imitated  in 
England,  and  of  which  the  form  was  the  Sonnet. 

116.  debt]  Sta.  He  means  that,  as  bereft  of  Juliet  he  should  die,  his  existenc* 
'■&  at  the  mercy  of  his  enemy,  Capulet.     Thus  in  the  old  poem : 

'  So  hath  he  leamd  her  name,  and  knowth  she  is  no  geast. 
Her  father  was  a  Capilet,  and  master  of  the  feast. 
Thus  hath  his  foe  in  choyse  to  geve  him  life  or  death. 
That  scarsely  can  bis  wofull  brest  keepe  in  the  lively  breath.* 

crAMBR.  (Q,)  here  has  '  thrall'  the  others  '  debt,'  which,  though  it  makes  a  rhyme, 
do««  not  iniprove  the  sense.     The  next  two  lines  are  not  in  (Q,).     As.  unlike  the 


ACTi,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  83 

Ben.     Away,  be  gone ;  the  sport  is  at  the  best. 

Rom.     Ay,  so  I  fear ;  the  more  is  my  unrest. 

Cap.     Nay,  gentlemen,  prepare  not  to  be  gone ; 
We  have  a  trifling  foohsh  banquet  towards. —  120 

Is  it  e'en  so  ?  why,  then,  I  thank  you  all ; 
I  thank  you,  honest  gentlemen ;  good  night. — 
More  torches  here ! — Come  on,  then  let's  to  bed. 
A.h,  sirrah,  by  my  fay,  it  waxes  late ;  1 34 

i'll  to  my  rest.  \Exeimt  all  but  ynliet  and  Nurse 

yul.     Come  hither,  nurse.     What  is  yond  gentleman  ? 

118.     [Going.  Coll.  (ed.  2),  f MS).  Cap.  Van  Knt.  Sing.  Dyce,  Sta.  Ktly. 

120.     [Maskers    excuse     themselves  125.     [Exeunt. ..Nurse.]  Malone.  Ex- 

ivith  a  Bow.  Capell.  eunt.  F^F  F  .  om.  QqF,.     Company  re- 

123.     here! — Come']  here,  come  (^J^^.  tire.  Capell. 

here :  come  F,.    here  conu  Q^F^F^F^.  126.     One  line,  Qfj.     Two,  Ff. 

123.  i)«,  Men]  QqFf,  <7«,  M^w,  Huds  yond]  yon  J''  F^,  Ruwe,  Sing. 
Dyce,  Clarke,  on  then;  Knt.  (ed.  2).  (ed.  2),  Coll.  White,  Kily.  yon  Pope. 
on  then,  Cambr.  &c.  Var.  Knt,  Sta.    yon'  Capell. 

124.  [to  his  Cousin.  Capell.    To  2 

immediate  context,  they  also  rhyme,  while  they  are  not  particularly  forcible,  we  in- 
cline to  think  that  some  other  hand  than  Sh.'s  inserted  them. 

117.  at  the  best]  Sta.  This  seems  to  mean,  'We  have  seen  the  best  of  the 
sport.' 

120.  banquet]  Nares.  What  we  now  call  a  dessert  was  in  earlier  times  often 
termed  a  banquet ;  and  Gifford  informs  us  that  the  banquet  was  usually  placed  in  a 
separate  room,  to  which  the  guests  removed  when  they  had  dined.  •  The  common 
place  of  banqueting,  or  eating  the  dessert,'  the  same  critic  says,  *  was  the  garden- 
house  or  arbour  with  which  almost  every  dwelling  was  furnished.'  To  this  Shallow 
alludes  in  2  Hen.  IV:  V,  iii,  2.  Banquet  is  often  used  by  Sh.,  and  seems  always  to 
signify  a  feast  as  it  does  now. 

Sing.  It  was  sometimes  called  a  rere-supper.  l^Huds.]  According  to  Baret, 
'  banketting  dishes  brought  at  the  end  of  meales  were  junkettes,  tartes,  marchpanes.' 
Yet  from  the  same  authority  it  appears  that  a  banquet  and  a  feast  were  also  then 
synonymous. 

Del.  After  the  supper,  of  which  the  invited  guests  had  already  partaken,  there 
is  to  follow  for  the  uninvited  maskers  a  collation,  which  Capulet,  with  affected 
modesty,  calls  trifling  and  foolish. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  WTien  Nares  said  that  Sh.  always  used  banquet  to  signify  a  feast 
he  overlooked  Tarn,  the  Shrew,  V,  ii,  9  :  '  My  banquet  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up 
After  our  g^eat  good  cheer.' 

120.  towards]  Steev.   That  is,  ready,  at  hand.    \^Sing.  Ifuds.  Knt.  Sta.  IMiite. 

121.  Is  it  e'en  so  ?]  Del.  The  stage-direction  in  (Q,)  serves  to  explain  thi» 
t^uestion.     That  is,  the  guests  whisper  in  his  ear  the  reason  for  their  departure. 

126.  yond  gentleman]  Mal.  and  Sta.   Compare  the  old  poem: 

•  What  twayne  are  those  (quoth  she)  which  prease  unto  the  doore. 
Whose  pages  in  their  hand  doe  beare,  two  torches  light  before  ? 


84 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  I.  sc.  ▼ 


Nurse.     The  son  and  heir  of  old  Tiberio. 

jfiil.     What's  he  that  now  is  going  out  of  door? 

Nurse.     Marry,  that,  I  think,  be  young  Petruchio.  129 

jul.     What's  he  that  follows  there,  that  would  not  dance  ? 

Nurse.     I  know  not. 

yul.     Go,  ask  his  name. — If  he  be  married, 
My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed. 

Nta-se.     His  name  is  Romeo,  and  a  Montague, 
The  only  son  of  your  great  enemy.  135 

Jul.     My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate ! 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late ! 
Prodigious  birth  of  love  it  is  to  me, 
That  I  must  love  a  loathed  enemy. 

Nurse.     What's  this  ?  what's  this  ? 

jtul.  A  rhyme  I  learn'd  even  now      140 

Of  one  I  danced  withal.  \O71e  calls  within  'Juliet ' 

Nurse.  Anon,  anon  ! — 

Come,  let's  away ;  the  strangers  all  are  gone.  \_Exeunt. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Now  old  Desire  doth  in  his  death-bed  lie. 


128.  of^  of  the  <^fi^. 

129.  Marry. ..be\   That  as  I  think  is 
(Q,)  Pope,  &c. 

be\  to  be  F^F^,  Rowe. 

130.  M*^*-]  (Q,)Capell.   -4.rr<rQqFf, 
Rowe,  &c.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  \Miite. 

133.     wedding]  wedded  F,. 
135.    your]  our  F^F^F^,  Rowe. 
[Going  and  returning.  Coll.  (ed.  2). 
137.     unkno-ivn]  unknow  F^. 
140.     this.. .this]  Ff.   tis...tis  Qq. 


what^s]  what  Q^,  Capell. 
/earned]  leame  F^. 
er'en]  e'en  Pope,  &c. 

142.  all  are]  are  all  Q^,  Capell, 
Clarke. 

Enter  Chorus]  Theob.  Chorus  QqFf. 
Act  II.  Scene  i.  Choras.  Rowe,  Pope. 
Act  II.  Coll.  (MS.)  Act  ii.  Enter 
Chorus  Ulr.  Act  ii.  Prologue.  Entei 
Chorus.  Chor.  Cambr. 

143.  in]  on  Pope,  &c.  Capell. 


And  then  as  eche  of  them  had  of  his  houshold  name, 

So  she  him  named  yet  once  agayne  the  yong  and  w^ly  dame. 

And  tell  me  who  is  he  with  vysor  in  his  hand. 

That  yender  doth  in  masking  weede  besyde  the  ■:\-indow  stand. 

His  name  is  Romeus  (said  shee)  a  Montagewe, 

Whose  Fathers  pryde  first  styrd  the  strife  which  both  your  housholdee  rewe. 

The  woord  of  Montagew  her  joyes  did  overthrow. 

And  straight  in  steade  of  happy  hope,  despayre  began  to  growe 

What  hap  have  I  quoth  she,  to  love  my  fathers  foe  ? 

What,  am  I  wery  of  my  wele?  what,  do  I  wishe  my  woe? 

But  though  her  grievouse  paynes  distraind  her  tender  hart, 

Yet  with  an  outward  shewe  of  joye  she  cloked  inward  smart ; 

And  of  the  courtlyke  dames  her  leave  so  courtly  tooke, 

That  none  dyd  gesse  the  sodain  change  by  changing  of  her  looke.' 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.j  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  85 

And  young  Affection  gapes  to  be  his  heir ; 
That  Fair  for  which  love  groan'd  for  and  would  die,  145 

With  tender  Juliet  match'd,  is  now  not  fair. 
Now  Romeo  is  beloved  and  loves  again, 

Alike  bewitched  by  the  charm  of  looks, 
But  to  his  foe  supposed  he  must  complain, 

And  she  steal  love's  sweet  bait  from  fearful  hooks:  150 

Being  held  a  foe,  he  may  not  have  access 

To  breathe  such  vows  as  lovers  used  to  swear ; 
And  she  as  much  in  love,  her  means  much  less 

To  meet  her  new  beloved  any  where. 
But  passion  lends  them  power,  time  means,  to  meet,  155 

Tempering  extremities  with  extreme  sweet.  \_Exit  Chorus. 

145.    for  which']  which  SXQG'v.{l'J<)'^),  156.    Tempering]  CoW.  TempringQi:^. 

Har.  Sing.  (ed.  l),  Haz.  Tempering  F,,  Theob.,  &c.  Capell,  Var. 

groan'd  for]  groned  Q^.  groaned  Knt.  Sta.  White,  Ktly.      Te77ifting  F^. 

tore  Ro'.ve,  &c.  Capell.   groaned  Camp.  Tempting  F  F  ,  Rowe,  Pope. 

Enter  Chorus]  Johnson.  The  use  of  this  Chorus  is  not  easily  discovered.  It 
conduces  nothing  to  the  progress  of  the  play,  but  relates  what  is  already  known,  or 
what  the  next  scene  will  show;  and  relates  it  without  adding  the  improvement  of 
any  moral  sentiment.     \_Sing.  (ed.  i). 

Ulr.  This  is  one  of  those  *  without-book  prologues'  to  which  reference  was  made 
in  I,  iv,  7.  It  is  so  empty,  prosaic,  and  barren,  and  so  wholly  pointless,  that  in  my 
opinion  it  is  impossible  that  it  could  ever  have  flowed  from  Sh.'s  pen. 

144.  gapes]  W.  L.  Rushton  {'Sh.'s  Testamentary  Language,'  1869,  p.  29). 
Swinbum's  ' Brief e  Treatise  of  Testaments  and  Last  Willes,'  15  90,  contains  many 
uncommon  words,  or  common  words  having  an  uncommon  sense,  which  are  used  by 
Sh. — e.g.,  'the  testator  is  afraid  to  offende  such  personnes  as  doo  gape  for  greater 
bequests  than  they  have  deserved,'  p.  23.  Again,  speaking  of  testaments  '  made  by 
flatterie,'  Swinbum  says,  p.  243  :  '  It  is  an  impudent  part  still  to  gape  and  crie  upon 
the  testator.' 

145.  Fair]  Mal.  This  was  formerly  used  as  a  substantive,  and  was  synonymous 
to  beauty.     \_Sing.  Htids. 

Steev.   In  the  present  instance  it  is  a  dissyllable.     \_Sing. 

145.  groan'd  for]  Mal.  This  kind  of  duplication  was  common  in  Sh.'s  time. 
[  White,]  In  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  139 :  '  the  scene  wherein  we  play  in! 
IHuds. 

148.  bewitched]  Del.  This  refers,  by  an  incomplete  construction,  to  both  lovers 
although  only  one  is  mentioned. 
8 


86 


ROMEO   AXD   JULIET. 


[act  ii.  sc.  L 


ACT    II. 


Scene  I.     A  lajie  by  the  wall  of  Capidefs  orchard. 


Enter  ROMEO,  alone. 

Rovi.     Can  I  go  fonvard  when  my  heart  is  here  ? 
Turn  back,  dull  earth,  and  find  thy  centre  out.         \Hc  climbs  the 

wally  and  leaps  down  xuithin  it. 

Enter  Benvolio  with  Mercutio. 

Ben.     Romeo  !  my  cousin  Romeo !  Romeo  ! 

Mer.  He  is  wise ; 

And,  on  my  life,  hath  stol'n  him  home  to  bed. 

Ben.     He  ran  this  way,  and  leap'd  this  orchard  wall :  j 

Call,  good  Mercutio. 


Act  II.  Scene  i.]  Han.  Scene  ii. 
Rowe,  Pope.  Act  ii.  Theob.  Scene 
111.  Capell.    Scene  i.  Ulr.  Cambr. 

A  lane...]  Cambr.  The  Street.  Rowe. 
Wall  of  Capulet's  Garden.  Capell.  An 
open  Place,  adjoining  Capulet's  garden. 
Var.  et  cet.  Capulet's  Garden,  adjoining 
the  House.  White.  Verona.  An  open 
place  adjoining  the  wall  of  Capulet's 
C>/chard.  Dyce  (cd.  2). 

2.     thy\  QtiF,.     my  F^F^F^,  Rowe. 


[He.. .it.]  Steev.  (1793).  cm. 
QqFf.  Exit.  Rowe,  &c.  Leaps  the 
Wall.  Capell.  He  climbs  the  wall,  and 
leaps  down.  Mai.  He  approaches  the 
house.  White. 

3.     my]  why,  Capell. 

Romeo  !  Romeo .']  QqFf.  Ro- 
meo !  Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Var.  Knt 
Dyce,  Cham.  Clarke,  Cambr. 

3,  4.     He...bed.'\  One  line  in  Qq. 


2.  dull  earth]  Clarke.  Romeo's  epithet  for  his  small  world  of  man,  the  earth- 
lier  portion  of  himself. 

2.  thy  centre  out]  Del.  Sh.  has  this  same  simile  elsewhere.  In  Tro.  and 
Cress.,  HI,  ii,  186,  and  in  the  (146th)  Sonnet:  'Poor  soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful 
earth.' 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  This  seems  to  be  one  of  the  many  instances  of  Sh.'s  apparent  intu- 
itive feeling  for  correcter  scientific  views  than  were  current  ir  his  day.  The  idea 
suggested  is  of  the  earth — symbol  of  the  earthly  body — at  its  aphelion,  or  the  point 
of  its  orbit  most  remote  from  the  sun,  returning  to  it  again  by  the  force  of  gravita- 
tion to  the  common  centre  of  gravity. 

5.  orchard]  Sing.  [^/.  Oss.,  H,  i].  Orchard  and  garden  appear  to  have  been 
synonymous.  The  former  was  written  hort-yard,  and  does  not  point  to  the  Latin 
h.^rtus,  but  "s  derived  from  the  Saxon  ortyeard,  which  is  itself  put  for  nyrtyeard,  a 
place  for  heros. 

Cr  \IK  {'Eng.  of  Sh.,'  p.  145).  It  is  probable  that  the  words  Orchard  and  Garden 


4CT  n,  sc.  i.] 


ROMEO    AND    JULIET. 


87 


Mcr.  Nay,  I'll  conjure  too. — 

Romeo !  humours  !  madman  !  passion !  lover ! 
Appear  thou  in  the  likeness  of  a  sigh  ! 
Speak  but  one  rhyme,  and  I  am  satisfied ; 
Cr>'  hut  'Ah  me!'  pronounce  but  'love'  and  'dove;' 
Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  fair  word, 
One  nick-name  for  her  purblind  son  and  heir, 
Young  Adam  Cupid,  he  that  shot  so  trim 


lu 


6.  Mer.  Nay...too'\  Continued  to 
Ben.,  Q,Q,Ff.    om.  Hunter. 

7.  Romeo  !'\  Capell.  Romeo.  Q^.  Ro- 
meo, Q^.  Mer.  Romeo,  QjQjF.F,.  Mer. 
Romeo  F^F^.  WJiy,  Romeo  !  Pope,  &c. 
Hear,  Romeo!  Mommsen  conj. 

humours  !... .lover  !'\    Humour's- 
madman!  Passion-lover  Smg.  (ed.  2). 
matlman]  madam  Q.Q-F  F^. 
lover  !'\  Liver  I  Hunter. 

9.  orte  rkyme'l  °'^'  rime  Q,Q.Fj 
rime  Q^.     one  titne  F^F  F^,  Rowe. 
ryme  Q  . 

10.  Cry  but  'Ah  me!']  Theob.  (ed. 
2).  Oy  but  ay  me,  Qq.  Cry  me  but 
ay  me,  F^,  Rowe.  Cry  me  but  ayme,  F^ 
F  .     Cry  me  but  aim,  F  ,     Cry  but  Ay 


on 
one 


me  !  Pope,  Capell,  Dyce,  Cf.mbr. 

pronounce]  (Q,)Q^Qj.  prouaunt, 
QjQj.  Prouant,  F,.  Cmply  Y^^^. 
couple  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Har.  Camp. 
Corn.  Haz. 

dove]  (Q,)  Pope,  day  Q,Q,Ff. 
Rowe.     die  Q^.     dye  Q  . 

12.  for]  to  Qj. 

heir]  her  Q^QjFf,  Rowe. 

13.  Adam]  Steev.,  1778  (Upton 
conj.),  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Abraham:  Q, 
Q3.  Abraham  Q^FfQ^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca- 
pell, Knt.  Ulr.  Sta.  Hal.  aubom  Theob, 
conj.  auburn  Dyce  (ed.  i),  Huds, 
White,  Cham,     abram  Dyce  conj. 

trim]  (Q,)  Steev.  true  QqFf, 
Rowe,  &c.  Capell. 


were  commonly  understood  in  the  early  part  of  the  17th  century  in  the  senses  which 
they  now  bear;  but  there  is  nothing  in  their  etymology  to  support  the  manner 
in  which  they  have  come  to  be  distinguished.  ...  A  Garden  (or  yard,  as  it  is 
still  called  in  Scotland)  means  merely  a  piece  of  ground  girded  or  enclosed; 
and  an  Orchard  (properly  Ortyard)  is,  literally,  such  an  enclosure  for  worts  01 
herbs. 

7.  humours]  Clarke.  Here  used  in  the  sense  of  *  amorous  fancies,'  '  enamoured 
whimsicalities.' 

7.  lover!]  Sing.  (ed.  2).  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Mercutio  meant  to  call 
Romeo,  '  Humour's-madman  !  Passion-lover !'  in  his  invocation.  He  would  hardly 
call  him  Humours,  and  Passion,  and  Lover. 

10.  pronounce]  Sing.  Steevens  endeavors  to  persuade  himself  and  his  readers 
that  provant  may  be  right,  and  means  provide,  furnish.     \_Knt.,  substantially. 

13.  Adam  Cupid]  Upton.  Sh.  wrote  •  Young  Adam  Cupid,'  &c.  The  printer 
or  transcriber  gave  us  this  ^ Abram,'  mistaking  the  d  for  br,  and  thus  made  a  passage 
direct  nonsense  which  was  understood  in  Sh.'s  time  by  all  his  audience ;  for  this 
Adam  was  a  most  notable  archer,  named  Adam  Bell,  who  for  his  skill  became  a 
proverb.  In  Much  Ado,  I,  i :  '  And  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped  on  the 
shoulder,  and  called  Adam.' 

Steev.  In  Decker's  Satiromastix  is  a  reference  to  the  same  archer :  « He  st  oota 
his  bolt  but  seldom,  but  when  Adam  lets  go  he  hits.'  '  He  shoots  at  thee  too, 
Adam  Bell.'     {Sing. 


88  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  i 

When  King  Cophetua  loved  the  beggar-maid ! — 

He  heareth  not ;  he  stirreth  not ;  he  moveth  not ;  1 5 

13,    14.      Young....maid^        "Young  15.     he  stirreth'\  he  strhcth  O.    Uir- 

Abraham''  —  "Cupid. ...maid"    Hunter         reih  Steev.  (1793),  Camp.  Haz. 
conj.  moveth'\  moves  Han. 

Knt.  The  change  of  Abraham  into  Adam  is  uncalled  for.  Abraham  c:  r.veys 
another  idea  than  that  of  Cupid's  archery,  which  is  strongly  enough  conveyed.  The 
'  Abraham'  Cupid  is  the  cheat — the  '  Abraham  man'^-of  our  old  statutes. 

Hunter.  There  seems  not  the  smallest  reason  for  substituting  'Adam'  for  'Abra- 
ham,* which,  as  a  nickname  of  Cupid,  has  something  more  of  humour  about  it. 

Dyce  i^A  Few  Notes^  &c.,  p.  109,  1853).  Capell  hazarded  the  strange  conjec- 
ture that  as  '  Cophetua  was  a  Jew  king  of  Africa,  Sh.  might  make  the  Cupid  that 
struck  him  a  Jew  Cupid'  \i.e.,  'Abraham'].  Notes,  &c.,  vol.  ii,  P.  iv,  p.  7.  .  .  . 
That  Sh.  here  had  an  eye  to  the  ballad  of  King  Cophetua  and  the  Beggar-Maid  is 
certain.  But  the  ballad  contains  nothing  to  countenance,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the 
reading  'Adam  Cupid.'  In  Soliman  and  Ferseda,  1599,  we  find:  'the  eldest 
Sonne  of  Pryam,  That  abraham-co\o\xxtd  Troion  ?'  Sig.  H  3.  In  Middleton's  Blurt, 
Master  Constable,  1602:  'A  goodlie,  long,  thicke,  Abram-co\o\xr' A  beard.'  Sig.  D. 
And  in  Coriolanus,  II,  iii,  according  to  F^F^FjC  'not  that  our  heads  are  some 
browne,  some  blacke,  some  ./4^ra»i /' — there  being  hardly  any  reason  to  doubt  that  in 
these  passages  * abraham'  (or  'Abram')  is  a  corruption  of  '  abron' — i.  e.,  'auburn.' 
Is  then  the  right  reading  in  the  present  line,  '  Young  abram  [or  auburn"]  Cupid,' 
Sh.  having  used  '  abram'  for  '  a.uhum-hair'd,'  as  the  author  of  Soliman  and  Ferseda 
has  used  ' a^raAa/w-coloured  Troion'  for  'Trojan  with  auburn-coloured  hair?' 
Everybody  familiar  with  the  Italian  poets  knows  that  they  term  Cupid,  as  well  as 
Apollo,  '  II  biondo  Die ;'  and  W.  Thomas,  in  his  Principal  Rules  of  the  Italian 
Crammer,  &c.,  gives  'Biondo,  the  abeme  [i.  e.,  auburn]  colour,  that  is  betwene 
white  and  yelow.'  ed.  1567.  In  The  Two  Gent.,  IV,  iv,  194,  'auburn'  means 
yellowish. 

Dyce  (ed.  l).  That  here  'Abraham'  is  merely  a  corrupted  form  of  'auburn'  I 
now  feel  more  confident  than  when  I  made  the  foregoing  note. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  This  [Dyce's  note]  is,  indeed,  to  use  Mr.  Dyce's  own  strong 
words  {'Remarks'  p.  167),  to  'chronicle  a  wretched  conjecture,'  for  where,  in  Eng- 
lish, is  Cupid  called  '  auburn  Cupid'  ? 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Mr.  Grant  White  estimates  my  conjecture  very  differently, — he 
adopts  it. 

White.  That  '  Abraham'  is  a  mere  error,  or,  rather,  superfluous  and  mistaken 
sophistication  of  '  abram,' — itself  one  of  the  numerous  modes  of  spelling  '  auburn' 
of  old, — seems  undeniable.  '  Auburn'  was  spelled  auburne,  aubome,  aubrun,  abeme, 
abron,  abrun,  abran,  abram,  and  (consequently)  sometimes  Abraham.  See  the  fol- 
lowing instances  :  '  Her  black,  browne,  auburne,  or  her  yellow  hayre.' — Drayton's 
Moone  Calf,  p.  164,  ed.  1627.     '  Light  aubome,  subflavus.' — Baret's  Alvearie,  1580. 

' He's  white  hair'd,  Not  wanton  white,  but  such  a  manly  colour  Next  to  an 

aubrun.' — Two  Ncble  Kinsmen,  IV,  ii.  '  And  on  his  Abron  head  hore  haires  peerd 
here  and  there  among.'- -Golding's  Ovid,  fol.  157  b.,ed.  1587;  fol.  151  b.,  ed.  1612. 
'  They  [persons  of  sanguine  temperament]  are  very  hairy ;  their  head  is  commonly 
vbran,  or  amber  coloured;  sf  'heir  bcf  rds.' — Optick  Glass  of  Humours,  1630,  p.  I16. 


ACT  II,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  89 

The  ape  is  dead,  and  I  must  conjure  him. — 
I  conjure  thee  by  Rosaline's  bright  eyes, 

16.     and'\  om.  F,,  Momm. 

The  printing  of  Abraham  for  Abram  was  very  likely  to  occur  from  the  fact  that  the 
name  of  the  '  father  of  the  faithful'  occurs  in  both  forms  in  Gen.  xvii,  5. 

Halliwell.  The  idea  of  Adam  Cupid  in  this  [Upton's]  sense  seems  forced.  The 
form  \abraham  for  auburn^  is  certainly  met  with  in  our  old  writers.  '  By  the  elev- 
enth house  you  can  judge  of  what  haire  he  shall  be  of,  of  a  browne  or  Abraham 
colour,  as  the  English;  of  a  yellow,  as  the  Dane.' — Melton's  Astrclogaster,  1620. 

Ktly.  I  incline  to  the  reading,  first  given  by  Upton,  with  an  allusion  to  Adam 
Bell,  and  I  think  there  may  be  another  to  Adam,  the  first  man ;  for  Sh.  may  have 
known  that  in  classic  mythology  Love  was  the  first  of  beings.  There  would  be 
humor,  then,  in  •  young  Adam'  denoting  the  union  of  youth  and  age. 

14.  beggar-maid]  Mal.  The  ballad  here  alluded  to  is  '  King  Cophetua  and  the 
Beggar-maid,'  or,  as  it  is  called  in  some  old  copies,  '  The  Song  of  a  Beggar  and  a 
King.'     The  following  stanza  Sh.  had  particularly  in  view : 

'The  bliTuUd  boy  that  shoots  so  trim. 

From  heaven  down  did  hie,        ['so  high,'  ColL  (ed.  i).] 
He  drew  a  dart  and  shot  at  him, 
In  place  where  he  did  lie.'    [Smg:  Coll.  Verp.  Huds. 

Nares.  The  song  is  extant  in  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  i,  p.  198,  and  is  several  times 
alluded  to  by  Sh.  and  others.  The  name  of  the  fair  beggar-maid,  according  to  that 
■luthority,  was  Zenelophon,  but  Dr.  Percy  considered  that  as  a  corruption  of  Penelo- 
phon,  which  is  the  name  in  the  ballad.  ...  It  has  been  conjectured  that  there  was 
some  old  drama  on  this  subject,  from  which,  probably,  the  bombastic  lines  spoken 
by  Ancient  Pistol  were  quoted:  2  Hen.  IV:  V,  iii,  loo,  loi.  The  worthy  monarch 
seems  to  have  been  a  favorite  hero  for  a  rant. 

Knight.  This  ballad  was  amongst  the  most  popular  of  old  English  ballads,  allu- 
sions to  which  were  familiar  to  Sh.'s  audience.  Upon  the  authority  of  learned  Mas- 
ter '  Moth,'  in  Love's  Lab.  L.,  I,  ii,  1 14,  it  was  an  ancient  ballad  in  Sh.'s  day.  We 
have  two  versions  of  this  ballad ;  the  one  in  ♦  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads'  ['  quoted 
by  Grey  in  1754'  (ed.  2.)],  the  other  in  Percy's  Reliques.  Both  of  these  composi- 
tions appear  as  if  they  had  been  '  newly  writ  o'er'  not  long  before,  or,  perhaps,  after 
Sh.'s  time.     [A  stanza  of  each  is  subjoined  by  Knight.]  Ed. 

Cambr.  Pope  was  the  first  commentator  who  called  attention  to  the  ballad  which 
is  alluded  to  in  this  passage,  and  it  is  remarkable  that,  with  all  his  partiality  for  (Q,), 
he  did  not  adopt  the  reading  •  trim,'  found  both  there  and  in  the  ballad.  Percy,  in  a 
note  to  the  ballad  printed  in  his  Reliques,  conjectured  that  Sh.  had  written  •  trim,' 
not '  true,'  apparently  without  knowing  that  the  word  was  found  in  (Q,).  Capell,  in 
his  note,  says  that  he  had  retained  '  true'  in  his  text,  owing  to  his  not  having  observed 
the  authority  for  the  other  reading. 

Halliwell  gives  the  ballad  at  length  from  Johnson's  Crowne  Garland  of  Goulden 
Roses,  1 61 2. 

16.  ape]  Mal.  This  phrase  was  frequently  applied  to  young  men,  in  Sh.'s  time, 
without  any  reference  to  the  mimickry  of  that  animal.  It  was  an  expression  of  ten- 
derness, like  poor  fool.  [Sing.  Rnt.  Huds."]  Nashe,  in  one  of  his  pamphlets,  men- 
tions his  having  rear  Lyly's  Euphues  whch  he  was  a  little  ape  at  Cambridge.  [Hal. 
8* 


90  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  n  »c  I 

By  her  liigh  forehead  and  her  scarlet  lip, 

By  her  fine  foot,  straight  leg  and  quivering  thigh, 

And  the  demesnes  that  there  adjacent  lie,  30 

That  in  thy  likeness  thou  appear  to  us ! 

Ben.     An  if  he  hear  thee,  thou  wilt  anger  him. 

Mcr.     This  cannot  anger  him  ;  'twould  anger  him 
To  raise  a  spirit  in  his  mistress'  circle 

Of  some  strange  nature,  letting  it  there  stand  2% 

Till  she  had  laid  it  and  conjured  it  down ; 
That  were  some  spite  ;  my  invocation 
Is  fair  and  honest,  and  in  his  mistress'  name 
I  conjure  only  but  to  raise  up  him. 

Ben.     Come,  he  hath  hid  himself  among  these  trees,  30 

To  be  consorted  with  the  humorous  night. 
Blind  is  his  love,  and  best  befits  the  dark. 

Mcr.     If  love  be  blind,  love  cannot  hit  the  mark. 
Now  will  he  sit  under  a  medlar-tree, 
And  wish  his  mistress  were  that  kind  of  fruit  35 

22.     An\  Afi   Theob.  (ed.  2).    And         ing  is,  name  Pope,  &c. 
Qqff.  28.     fair  and  hone5t\   Honest  and 

24,  28.     mistresi''\  Theob.    mistress's         fair  Pope,  &c. 

F^,  Rowe,  Pope.  and  /«]  in  Q,. 

25.  there']  om.  F,.  30.     these]    those   (Q,)    Capell,  Var. 
27,  28.     As  in  Cipell.     Two  lines,         (Corn.)  Sing.  Sta.  Ktly. 

ending  spight,  name,  QqFf,  Rowe.    end-  35.     that]  such  Capell, 

Del.    In  Macbeth  IV,  ii.  Lady  Macduff  calls  her  little  son  '  poor  monkey.' 

18.  high  forehead]  White  [Note  on  Two  Gent.  IV,  iv,  198].  'Forehead'  was 
formerly  used,  as  it  now  too  often  is,  for  '  brow  ;'  and  to  the  beauty  of  a  broad  low 
brow  (which  may  exist  with  a  high  fore-head,  as  we  see  in  the  finest  antique  statues) 
the  folk  of  Sh.'s  day  seem  to  have  been  blind.  Perhaps  in  this,  too,  they  paid  theii 
court  to  the  bald-browed  Virgin  Queen.     There  are  fashions  even  in  beauty. 

21.  likeness]  Del.  Romeo  must  appear  in  his  own  person,  not,  pcradventure, 
as  the  exorcism  began  with,  '  in  the  likeness  of  a  sigh.' 

31.  humorous  night]  Steev.  That  is,  the  ^/^w/t/,  the  moist  ^<r7tjy  night.  \Sing. 
Knt.  Verp.  JIuds.]  Chapman  uses  the  word  in  this  sense  in  his  Homer,  b.  ii,  ed. 
1598:  '  The  other  gods  and  knights  at  arms  slept  all  the  humourous  night.'     In 

Drayton's  Polyolbion,  Song  13th  :  • which  l.ite  the  humourous  night  Besp.ingled 

had  with  pearl.'  In  his  Barons'  Wars,  Canto  i :  •  The  humourous  fogs  deprive  us 
of  his  light.'     [Sing.  Hal. 

Mal.    In  Meas.  for  Meas.  we  have,  'the  vaporous  night  approaches.'     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Del.  In  an  ambiguous  sense :  moist  and  capricious,  full  of  such  humours  .xs  cha- 
racterize lovers,  and  as  whose  personification  Merc,  had  just  conjured  Rom  undc« 
the  collective  name  '  humf>urs.' 


*CT  11,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET,  9I 

As  maids  call  medlars  when  they  laugh  alone. — 
O,  Romeo,  that  she  were,  O,  that  she  were 
An  open  et  cetera,  thou  a  poperin  pear ! 

56.     As\   Which  Rowe,  &c.  38.     open  et  utera,  tnou\  ^l^J  Mai. 

37.      0,...0,'\  Ah,...ah,Q,z.-^€[\.  open,  or  thou  Q^Q^Ff,     open  d^"  catera, 

37,  38.  ora.  Pope,  &c.  Har,  Sing.  and  thou  Q  .  open  and  catera,  and  thou 
(ed,  I),  Knt.  Camp.  Com.  Haz.  Verp.  Q.  open — or  thou^o-wz.  open — ,and 
Cham.  thou  Capell. 

5.  Walker.  Jonson,  Cynthia's  Revels,  i,  1.  Gifford,  vol.  ii,  p.  237  :  •  The  humour- 
ous air  shall  mix  her  solemn  tunes  With  thy  sad  words.'  Gifford,  '  Humourous  here 
means  moist,  flaccid  from  humidity,  flexible,  &c.' 

36.  laugh  alone]  Knt.  There  are  two  lines  here  omitted  by  Steevens,  which 
Malone  restored  to  the  text.  The  lines  are  gross,  but  the  grossness  is  obscure,  and 
if  it  were  understood,  could  scarcely  be  called  corrupting.  The  freedoms  of  Mer- 
cutio  arise  out  of  his  dramatic  character;  his  exuberant  spirit  betrays  him  into  levi- 
ties which  are  constantly  opposed  to  the  intellectual  refinement  which  rises  above 
Buch  baser  matter.  But  Pope  rejected  these  lines, — Pope  who,  in  the  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  has  introduced  one  couplet,  at  least,  that  would  have  disgraced  the  age  of 
Elizabeth.  We  do  not  print  the  two  lines  of  Sh.,  for  they  can  only  interest  the  ver- 
bal critic.  But  we  distinctly  record  their  omission.  As  far  as  we  have  been  able  to 
trace, — and  we  have  gone  through  the  old  eds.  with  an  especial  reference  to  this 
matter, — these  two  lines  constitute  the  only  passage  in  the  original  eds.  which  has 
been  omitted  by  modern  edd.  With  this  exception  there  is  not  a  passage  in  Sh. 
which  is  not  reprinted  in  every  ed.  except  that  of  Bowdler's.  And  yet  the  writer  in 
Lardner's  Cyclopaedia  (Lives  of  Literary  and  Scientific  Men)  has  ventured  to  make 
the  following  assertion  :  '  Whoever  has  looked  into  the  original  editions  of  his  dramas 
will  be  disgusted  with  the  obscenity  of  his  allusions.  They  absolutely  teem  with 
the  grossest  improprieties, — more  gross  by  far  than  can  be  found  in  any  contemporary 
dramatist.'  The  insinuation  that  the  original  editions  contain  improprieties  that  are 
not  to  be  found  in  modern  editions  is  difiicult  to  characterize  without  using  expres- 
sions that  had  better  be  avoided. 

Del.  ['Lexikon').  These  lines,  which  are  perfectly  in  keeping  with  Mercutio's 
character,  and  are  to  be  found  in  all  the  old  eds.,  have  hurt  the  delicacy  of  some  of 
the  English  critics  to  such  an  extent,  that  the  latter  have  omitted  them  from  the  text, 
which  without  them  is  unintelligible,  in  order  thereby  to  give  them  the  greater 
prominence  in  their  notes. 

[For  further  reference  to  the  article  in  Lardner's  Cyclopsedia  see  Brown's  'Autv- 
biographical  Poems  of  Sh'  p.  215.]   Ed. 

38.  poperin]  Mal.  Poperingue  is  a  town  in  French  Flanders  two  leagues  dis- 
tant from  Vpres,  from  whence  the  Poperin  pear  was  brought  into  England.  \\'hat 
were  the  peculiar  qualities  of  a  Poperin  pear  I  am  unable  to  ascertain.  The  word 
was  chosen.  I  believe,  merely  for  the  sake  of  a  quibble  which  it  is  not  necessary  to 
explain.     \^Dyce. 

Steev.  This  pear  is  mentioned  in  the  Wise  Woman  of  Hogsdon,  1638:  'What 
needed  I  to  have  grafted  in  the  stock  of  such  a  choke-pear,  and  such  a  goodly 
poprin  as  this  to  escape  me  ?'  Again,  in  A  New  Wonder,  a  Woman  Never  Vexed, 
163'$:  '  I  requested  him  to  pull  me  A  Katherine  Pear,  and,  had  I  not  look'd  to  him. 


92  ROMEO   AA'D   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  ii 

Romeo,  good  night. — 111  to  my  truckle-bed; 

This  field-bed  is  too  cold  for  me  to  sleep ;  40 

Come,  shall  we  go  ? 

Ben.  Go,  then  ;  for  'tis  in  vain 

To  seek  him  here  that  means  not  to  be  found.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  II.       Captilefs  orchard. 

Enter  RoMEO. 

Rom.     He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound. — 

\_yriliet  appears  above,  at  a  window. 

40.  sleepy  sleep  in  Ktly.  den.  Rowe.     Capulet's  garden.  Theob. 

41.  42.  Co. ..found.']  Pope.  Two  Enter  Romeo.]  Rowe.  cm.  QqFf, 
lines,  the  first  ending  here,  QqFf,  Rowe.         White. 

42.  [Exeunt.]  Q/fQ.-     Exit.  q^(l^.  I.     [Juliet...]    Rowe   (after  line  3), 
Scene  n.]   Han.    Scene  ni.  Rowe.        AVhite  (after  line  2).  Enter  Juliet,  above. 

Scene  iv.  Capell.   om.  White.  Capell. 

Capulet's  orchard.]  Globe  ed.   A  gar- 

He'd  have  mistook,  and  given  me  a  popperin.^  In  the  Atheist's  Tragedy,  by  Cyril 
Turner,  161 1,  there  is  much  conceit  about  this  pear.  I  am  unable  to  explain  it  with 
certainty,  nor,  indeed,  does  it  appear  to  deserve  explanation.  Thus  much  may  safely 
be  said ;  viz.,  that  our  pear  might  have  been  of  French  extraction,  as  Poperin  was 
the  name  of  a  Parish  in  the  marches  of  Calais.  So,  in  Chaucer's  Rime  of  Sire 
Thopas,  ver.  13,650:  *  In  Flandres,  al  beyonde  the  see,  At  Popering  in  the  place.* 
[//a/. 

39.  truckle-bed]  N.\res.  A  small  bed  made  to  run  under  a  larger;  quasi 
trocle-bed,  from  trochlea,  a  low  wheel  or  castor.  It  was  generally  approprial(  d  to 
a  servant  or  attendant  of  some  kind.  This  bed  was  the  station  of  the  lady's  maid, 
and  of  the  page,  or  fool,  to  a  nobleman,  and  was  drawn  out  at  night  to  the  feet  of 
the  principal  bed,  which  was  sometimes  termed  the  standing-bed,  as  in  Merry  Wives, 
IV,  V.     \_Dyce. 

Knt.  The  furniture  of  a  sleeping-chamber  in  Sh.'s  time  consisted  of  a  standing- 
bed  and  a  truckle-bed.  (See  Merry  Wives,  IV,  v,  6.)  The  former  was  for  the 
mnster,  the  latter  for  the  servant.  It  may  seem  strange,  therefore,  that  Mercuno 
should  talk  of  sleeping  in  the  bed  of  his  page;  but  the  r.ext  words, — *T\i\%  field- 
oed* — will  solve  the  difficulty.  The  field-bed,  in  this  case,  was  the  ground ;  but  the 
field-bed,  properly  so  called,  was  the  travelling-bed, — the  lit  de  champ, — called  in 
old  English  the  '  trussyng-bedde.'  The  bed  next  beyond  the  luxury  of  the  trussyng 
bed  was  the  truckle-bed ;  and  therefore  Sh.  naturally  takes  that  in  preference  to  the 
Btanding-bed.     \IIuds.  Hal. 

Ulr.  Mercutio  simply  means  to  say  that  he  himself  prefers  at  night  movement 
[truckle-\)^A%  were  provided  with  rollers)  to  standing  still,  and  at  all  events  his  bad 
•  truckle-bed'  to  the  '  field-bed.' 

I.  Rom.]  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Retn.^  vol.  ii,  p.  154,  ed.  1836)  Take  notice,  m 
this  enchanting  scene,  of  ♦''e  contrast  of  Romeo's  love  with  his  former  fancy,  and 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  93 

But,  soft !  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks  ? 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun ! — 

weigh  the  skill  shown  in  justifying  him  from  his  inconstancy  by  making  us  feel  the 
difference  of  his  passion.  Yet  this,  too,  is  a  love  in,  although  not  merely  of,  the 
imagination.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

Sta.  It  has  been  disputed  whether  Romeo,  overhearing  Mercutio's  banter,  refers 
to  that,  or  to  his  having  believed  himself,  before  he  saw  Juliet,  so  invincible  in  his 
love  for  Rosaline,  that  no  other  beauty  could  move  him.  We  feel  no  doubt  that  the 
allusion  is  to  Mercutio ;  indeed,  the  rhyme  in  found  and  wound  seems  purposely 
intended  to  carry  on  the  connection  of  the  speeches ;  and  at  this  moment  Rosaline 
i?  wholly  forgotten. 

White.  In  the  Qq  and  Ff,  from  the  beginning  of  this  Act  to  the  entrance  of  the 
Friar,  there  is  not  the  slightest  implication  of  a  supposed  change  of  scene,  but 
rather  the  contrary ;  and  the  arrangement  in  question  [Rowe's]  seems  to  have  been 
the  consequence  of  an  assumption  that  Benvolio's  remark  (II,  i,  5)  is  made  on  the 
outside  of  the  wall ;  whereas  the  text  rather  implies  that  the  whole  of  this  Act,  from 
the  entrance  of  Romeo  to  his  exit  after  his  interview  with  yuliet,  passes  within 
Capuhfs  garden ;  for  after  the  stage  direction,  ^ Enter  Romeo  alone"  (which  has  a 
like  particularity  in  all  the  old  copies),  Romeo  says,  '  Can  I  go  forward  while  my 
heart  is  here .»" — not  in  the  street,  or  outside  the  wall,  but  here,  in  the  dwelling-place 
of  his  love,  which  is  before  his  eyes.  After  he  speaks  the  next  lines,  the  old  copies 
(from  the  absence  of  scenery)  could  not  direct  him  to  '  climb  the  wall  and  leap  down 
within  it ;'  but,  had  he  been  supposed  to  do  this,  some  intimation  would  have  been 
given  that  he  was  to  go  out  of  eye-shot  of  Mer.  and  Benv.;  as,  for  instance,  in 
Love's  Lab.  L.,  where  (IV,  iii)  Birone  is  supposed  to  mount  a  tree,  we  have  the 
direction,  *He  steps  aside.''  But  in  the  present  case  nothing  of  the  kind  appears,  even 
in  the  notably  particular  indications  of  (Q,).  Again,  Benvolio's  remark  that  Romeo 
'  hath  hid  himself  among  these  trees'  must  surely  be  made  within  the  enclosure  where 
Romeo  is,  unless  we  suppose  Benv.  able  to  see  farther  into  a  stone  wall  than  most 
folk  can ;  while  what  he  previously  says  about  '  this  orchard  wall'  means  merely  the 
wall  of  this  orchard  (as  in  Romeo's  after  speech,  line  66),  and  implies  no  particular 
nearness  of  the  barrier.  Finally,  in  QqFf  we  find  that  the  last  line  of  Benvolio's 
last  speech  and  the  first  of  Romeo's  soliloquy  make  a  rhyming  couplet,  and  arc 
printed  together  without  any  direction  for  the  entrance  of  Romeo. 

Therefore  I  have  felt  obliged  to  vary  from  the  previous  modem  arrangement  of 
this  Act,  and  to  make  but  one  Scene  of  what  has  been  made  by  other  editors  two. 
It  has  also  been  the  custom  hitherto  to  direct  Juliet  to  appear  before  Romeo's  excla- 
mation at  seeing  the  light.  I  have  a  purpose  in  making  him  see  the  light  (as  he 
naturally  would)  before  he  sees  Juliet,  which,  to  those  who  share  my  appreciation 
of  the  passage,  will  excuse  what  may  seem  to  others  a  trifling,  if  not  a  needless,  change. 

Cambr.  As  there  is  no  indication  in  the  Qq  and  Ff  of  Romeo's  entrance  here, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  in  the  old  arrangement  of  the  scene  the  wall  was  rep- 
resented as  dividing  the  stage,  so  that  the  audience  could  see  Romeo  on  one  side 
and  Mercutio  on  the  other.  It  is  clear  from  the  first  line  of  Romeo's  speech  that  he 
overhears  what  Mercutio  says ;  and  though  we  have  not  altered  the  usual  arrange 
ment,  we  canno*  but  feel  that  there  is  an  awkwardness  in  thus  separating  the  two 
lines  of  a  rhyming  couplet. 

3    the  sun]  Douce.   This  line  in  particular,  and  perhaps  the  whole  scene,  has 


94  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  so.  li 

'"  Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 
Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief,  j 

That  thou  her  maid  art  far  more  fair  than  she. 
j    Be  not  her  maid,  since  she  is  envious ; 
"l  Her  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green, 
/  And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it ;  cast  it  off. — 
/  It  is  my  lady;  O,  it  is  my  love!  10 

O,  that  she  knew  she  were ! — 
,       She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing ;  what  of  that  ? 
Her  eye  discourses  ;  I  will  answer  it. — 
I  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  me  she  speaks. 

Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven,  1 5 

Having  some  business,  do  intreat  her  eyes 

8.  vestal  livery]    vestal-livery  Ktly.         White. 

conj.  10,  II.    As  in  Johns.     One  line,  Qq 

sick]    pale    (Q,)    Sing.    (ed.    2),  Ff.    om.  (QJ  Pope,  &c. 
White,  Dyce  i^ed.  2),  Ktly.    white  Coll,  II.     -were]  is  Seymour  conj. 

(ed.  2)  (MS.),  Ulr.  15.     in  all]  of  all  Rowe,  &c. 

9.  [Juliet  steps  out  upon  a  balcony]  16.     do]  to  Q^. 

been  imitated  by  the  author  of  the  Latin  Comedy  of  Labyrinthus.  In  Act  III,  iv, 
two  lovers  meet  at  night,  and  the  Romeo  of  the  piece  says  to  his  mistress,  '  Quid 
mihi  noetem  commemoras,  mea  salus?  Splendens  nunc  subito  illuxit  dies,  ubi  tu 
primum,  mea  lux,  oculorum  radiis  hasce  dispulisti  tenebras.'  This  excellent  play 
was  acted  before  James  I  at  Cambridge,  and  for  bustle  and  contrivance  has  perhaps 
never  been  exceeded. 

7.  maid]  Johnson.    Be  not  a  votary  to  the  moon,  Diana.    \^Sing.  Knt.  Haz.  Huds. 

8.  sick  and  green]  Coll.  \^Notes  and  Emend.''].  'WTiite  and  green'  had  been 
the  royal  livery  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  but  Elizabeth  changed  it  to  scarlet  and 
black  ;  and  although  motley  was  the  ordinary  dress  of  fools  and  jesters,  it  is  capable 
of  proof  that,  earlier  than  the  time  of  Sh.,  the  fools  and  jesters  of  the  court  (and 
perhaps  some  others)  were  still  dressed  in  'white  and  green;'  thus  it  became  pro- 
verbially the  livery  of  fools.  Will  Summer  (who  lived  until  1560,  and  was  buried 
at  Shoreditch  on  the  15th  of  June  of  that  year)  wore  'white  and  green,'  and  the 
circumstance  is  thus  mentioned  in  '  Certain  Edicts  of  Parliament,'  at  the  end  of  the 
edition  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  'Wife,'  in  1614:  'Item,  no  fellow  shall  begin  to 
argue  with  a  woman,  &c.,  unless  he  wear  white  for  William  and  green  for  Summer' — 
•hat  is,  unless  he  be  a  fool  like  Will  Summer.  In  Fox's  'Acts  and  Monuments,'  iii, 
1 14,  a  story  is  told  of  a  person,  who,  noticing  the  colors  in  which  St.  John  had  been 
painted  by  the  Papists  in  St.  Paul's,  said,  '  I  hope  ye  be  but  a  Summer's  bird,  in  that 
ye  be  dressed  in  7vhite  and  green.''  Skelton  wore  'white  and  green'  because  he  was 
the  royal  jester,  though  he  also  assumed  the  rank  of  laureat.  In  the  time  of  Sh.  it 
may  have  been  discontinued  as  the  dress  even  of  court  fools,  but  it  may  have  been 
traditionally  so  considered.     [  White,  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Sing.  {Sh.  Vindicated,  p.  231,  1853).  The  substitution  of  white  for  'sick'  is  quite 
unnecessary  and  inadniissible,  for  sick  could  never  be  a  misprint  for  white.     To  be 


ACT  n,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  95 

To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 

What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head  ? 

The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those  stars, 

As  daylight  doth  a  lamp  ;  her  eyes  in  heaven  20 

Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright 

That  birds  would  sing  and  think  it  were  not  night. — 

See,  how  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  1 

O,  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 

20.     c_j/«]     (QJ    Pope,      eye    QqFf,         Cham. 
Rowe,    Capell,    Var.    Knt.    Del.    Sta.  22.     were'\  ivas  Seymour  conj. 

sick  is  to  be  pale  in  Sh.'s  language;  thus,  ^sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought,'  &c.  &c. 

Del.  The  copula  here  joins  what  is  one  substantive  idea :  green-sickness — i.  e., 
an  ailment  of  languishing  young  girls. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).    Sick  was  caught  from  the  line  above. 

White.  'Sicke  and  greene' — a  strange  combination  of  colors  in  a  livery,  though  a 
color  might  be  described  as  sick.  But  it  has  hitherto  been  adopted  without  question, 
I  believe,  and  the  variation  of  texts  has  remained  unnoticed.  The  compositor  ap- 
pears to  have  been  confused  by  a  reminiscence  of  the  epithets  applied  to  the  moon 
in  the  third  line  above,  and  perhaps  also  by  a  passing  thought  of  green-sickness 
which  they  suggested,  and  so  repeated  the  first  instead  of  the  second  of  those  epi- 
thets. Collier  (MS.)  offers  a  violent  though  specious  change,  which  is  made 
entirely  unnecessary  by  the  reading  of  (Q,),  and  which  yet  gives  an  independent 
support  to  that  reading.     So  also  does  Macbeth,  I,  vii,  37. 

Dyce.  (ed.  2).  Whichever  epithet  [pale  or  sick]  we  prefer,  there  will  still  be  a 
slight  awkwardness,  as  both  words  occur  three  lines  above ;  but  pale  is  doubtless  the 
more  proper  epithet  here. 

9.  cast  it  off]  White.  We  know,  from  what  Romeo  says  in  line  27,  that  Sh. 
imagined  Juliet  to  be  at  an  elevated  window  or  balcony,  although  no  old  copy  has  a 
stage-direction  to  that  effect.  Our  old  stage,  in  spite  of  its  lack  of  scenerj',  per- 
mitted this  scene  to  be  played  with  a  very  exact  likeness  to  reality.  Juliet  could 
appear  at  the  window,  which  opened  on  the  balcony  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  draw 
the  curtain,  and,  after  pausing  a  few  moments,  as  a  girl  would  naturally  do  under 
the  circumstances  (during  which  her  lover  might,  though  feeling  sure,  be  unable  to 
see  surely,  who  it  was),  step  out  upon  the  balcony.  And  so  it  doubtless  was  repre- 
sented, and  should  now  be.  For  this  gives  a  meaning  to  Romeo's  exclamations, '  It 
is  my  lady ;  O,  it  is  my  love !'  which  seem  somewhat  superfluous,  to  say  the  least,  if 
Juliet  bolts  right  out  when  Romeo's  attention  is  first  attracted  by  the  light  from  her 
window,  according  to  modern  custom  on  the  stage  and  the  supposition  of  modem 
texts.     It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  these  exclamations  do  not  appear  in  (Q,). 

24.  glove  upon  that  hand]  Halliwell.  Steevens  seems  to  think  that  this  is 
imitated  in  Shirley's  Love  Tricks,  1631 :  'O  that  I  were  a  flea  upon  thy  lip;'  but 
this  opinion  is  disputed  by  Gifford,  i,  57,  as  altogether  untenable.  The  world,  he 
observes,  has  had  more  than  enough  of  this  folly.  The  line  in  Sh.  is  not  suscepti- 
ble of  ridicule ;  whereas  I  have  seen,  and  Steevens  must  have  seen,  scores  of  madri- 
gals of  this  date  scarcely  less  ridiculous  than  the  complement  of  Gorgon. 


96  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  il 

That  I  might  touch  that  cheek  ! 

Jul.  Ay  me ! 

Rom.  She  speaks. —  2$ 

O,  speak  again,  bright  angel !  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  heaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned  wondering  eyes 

Of  moitals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him,  30 

When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 

Jul.     O  Romeo,  Romeo !  wherefore  art  thou  Romeo  ? 
Deny  thy  father  and  refuse  thy  name ; 

25-     ^;']   QqFf,  Capell,  Dyce,  Sta.  upturned  Ktly.   wide,  upturned  Heussi 

Cambr.    Ah  Rowe  et  cet.  conj. 

27.     «?^^/J  «>A/ Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  31.     /azy-/a«>zf]  Pope,    lasie  pacing 

Capell,  Sing.  (QJ.    lazie  puffing  QqFf  {lazy  F^F^FJ. 

aS.     of'\  from  Rowe,  &c.  lazy  passing  Coll.    (ed.    I.)   conj.   Ulr. 

29.     white-upturned^     Theob.     (ed.  Coll.  (MS). 
2).    whi^e  upturned  QqFf,  Hdlz.    white,  33.     Romeo ?'\     Montague?      Anon. 

conj  .* 

25.  touch]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  (Q,)  has  kiss  for  'touch.'  'Touch'  seems  the 
more  delicate ;  but  in  a  former  scene  Romeo  had  kissed  Juliet. 

27.  night]  Theobald.  The  latter  part  of  the  simile  seems  to  require,  'As  glo- 
rious to  this  sight.' 

Sing.   Theobald's  emendation  appears  warranted  by  the  context. 

Del.  The  comparison  with  what  follows  is  carried  out  in  '  being  o'er  my  head,' 
not  in  '  to  this  night,'  which  would  very  inexactly  correspond  to  '  unto  the  white  up 
turned  eyes,'  &c. 

Keightley.   Theobald's  emendation  is  most  tasteless. 

31.  lazy-pacing]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  origin  of  the  corruption  in  QqFf  possibly 
was  that  in  the  manuscript  from  which  Q^  was  printed 'lazy-pacing'  was  written 
lazy-pajjing,  and  the  compositor  misread  the  two  ff  for  a  double  f.     [  White. 

White.  '  The  lazie  puffing  cloudes'  affords  such  picturesque  propriety  of  descrip- 
tion that  it  is  only  after  much  hesitation  that  I  adopt  the  reading  of  (Q,),  suggestive 
as  that  is ;  for  the  lazy  puffing  clouds  are  the  slow-moving  cumuli  that  puff  them- 
selves out  into  swelling  breasts  of  rose-tinted  white,  and  so  have  seemed  to  many  a 
dreamy  eye  '  the  bosom  of  the  air.'  But  the  epithet  '  lazy-pacing,'  aside  from  its 
beauty,  has  a  strong  hold  in  the  word  '  bestrides,'  which  precedes  it,  and  a  powerful 
auxiliary  in  a  passage  of  that  splendid  outpouring  of  the  extravagance  of  an  over- 
heated imagination — Macbeth's  soliloquy,  as  he  meditates  the  murder,  where  cue 
same  fancy  recurs,  though  fitly  varied.  (Macbeth  I,  vii,  21.)  And  so,  although  be- 
tween two  such  readings  an  editor  may  be  somewhat  like  Captain  Macheath  between 
the  two  ladies  who  were  so  tenderly  solicitous  as  to  his  fate,  the  impaired  authority 
of  the  folio  in  this  play  allows,  I  think,  the  more  immediate  context  and  the  collat- 
eral support  of  another  unsuspected  passage  to  decide  the  doubt. 


ACT  11,  SC.  ii.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  f)^ 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love,  35 

And  I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Rom.     \_Aside\  Shall  I  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this  ? 

yul.     'Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy ; 
Thou  art  thyself,  though  not  a  Montague. 

37.     [Aside]     Rowe.      om.    Capell,  thyself,    aKhough    a    Montague    (Ulr. 

Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  White,  Hal.  adopts),  or  Thou  art  thyself,  though  yet 

39.      Thou.-.Montague']  QqFf,  Rowe,  a   Montague    Ritson   conj.      Thou   art 

Theob.  Warb.  Haz.  Sta.  White,  Cambr.  thyself,  thought  not  a  Montague  Jack 

Knt.  (ed.  2).    om.  (QJ  Pope.     Thou'ri  son  conj.     Thou  art  thyself ,  thou ;  not  a 

not  thy  self  so,   though   a   Mountague  Montague  Anon,  conj.*     Thou  art  thy- 

Han.   Capell.      Thou   art  thyself,  then  self  though,  not  a  Montague  Mai.  Var. 

not  a  Montague  Johns,  conj.      Thou  art  et  cet. 


39.  thyself,  though]  Mal.  Thou  art,  however,  says  Juliet,  a  being  sui  generis, 
amiable  and  perfect,  not  tainted  by  the  enmity  which  your  family  bears  to  mine. 
According  to  the  common  punctuation,  the  adversative  particle  is  used  without  any 
propriety,  or  rather  makes  the  passage  nonsense.  Though  is  again  used  by  Sh.  in 
Mid-Sum.  N.  D.,  Ill,  ii,  343,  in  the  same  sense.  Again  in  Tam.  the  Shrew,  HI,  ii, 
26.  Again  in  Henry  VIII :  II,  ii,  84.  Other  writers  frequently  use  though  for  how- 
ever. Juliet  is  simply  endeavoring  to  account  for  Romeo's  being  amiable  and  excel- 
lent, though  he  is  a  Montague.  And  to  prove  this  she  asserts  that  he  merely  bears 
the  name,  but  has  none  of  the  qualities  of  that  House.     \_Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Knt.  Juliet  places  his  personal  qualities  in  opposition  to  what  she  thought  evil 
of  his  family.  [Mr.  Knight  has  this  same  note  in  both  his  first  and  last  editions, 
although  he  has  a  different  punctuation  in  each.]  Ed. 

Sta.  [After  quoting  the  last  two  sentences  of  Malone's  note,  as  above,  adds]  : 
Nothing  can  be  more  foreign  to  her  meaning.  Her  imagination  is  powerfully  ex- 
cited by  the  intelligence  she  has  just  received :  '  His  name  is  Romeo,  and  a  Mon- 
tague r  In  that  name  she  sees  an  insurmountable  impediment  to  her  new-formed 
wishes,  and  in  the  fancied  apostrophe  to  her  lover,  she  eloquently  implores  him  to 

abandon  it : 

'  Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name. 

•  •  •  •  • 

'Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy  : — 
Thou  art  thyself,  though  not  a  Montague." 

That  is,  as  she  afterwards  expresses  it,  you  would  still  retain  all  the  perfections  which 
adorn  you,  were  you  not  called  Montague :  'What's  Montague?  it  is  nor  hand  nor 

foot,'  &c.     ' O,  be  some  other  name.^     One  is  puzzled  to  conceive  a  difficulty 

in  appreciating  the  meaning,  especially  as  the  thought  is  repeated  immediately  after : 

'  What's  in  a  name  ?  that  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  word  would  smell  as  sweet' 

The  same  idea  occurs  in  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  poem  of  '  A  Wife :'  '  Things  were 
first  made,  then  words ;  she  were  the  same  With  or  without  that  title  or  that  name.^ 

[Curiously  enough,  by  what  is  evidently  a  misprint,  in  Mr.  Staunton's  Lib.  Ed.  the 
text  follows  Malone's  punctuation.]  Ed. 

White.  That  is,  as  a  rose  is  a  rose, — has  all  its  characteristic  sweetness  and 
beauty, — though  it  be  not  called  a  rose.  Malone,  with  malice  aforethought,  and  at 
9  O 


gS  ROMEO  AXD   JULIET.  [act  u.  sc.  li. 

What's  Montague  ?  it  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot,  40 

Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 

Belonsinji  to  a  man.     O,  be  some  other  name ! — 

WTiat's  in  a  name  ?  that  which  we  call  a  rose 

By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 

So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  call'd,  4$ 

Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes 

Without  that  title. — Romeo,  doff  thy  name, 

And  for  thy  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee. 

Take  all  myself. 

Ram.  I  take  thee  at  thy  word : 

40.  nor  hand'[  not  hand  F^,  Rowe,  47.  tide.  Romeo ^  title:  Ronuo  CJ,- 
Pope,  Han.                                                          title ;   Romeo,  F^,  Rowe.     title,  Romeo 

41,42.     nor  any... name '^^lizl.    O  be  QJ^Sl^;   title  Romeo,  Y^Y^. 

some  other  name  Belonging  to  a  man.  ^<^]  f''^  Pope,  &c. 

QqFf,  Rowe.  4S.     tky   name']    QqFf.     thaS    namt 

42.     Belonging... .name]    um.    Pope,  (QJ   Rowe,  Pope  (ed.  l),  Han.  CapeH 

&c.  Capell.  Vax.  Huds.  Dyce,  Sta. 

42.     Belonging  to  a]  Belonging  Tay-  49.     [raising  his  Voice,  and  showing 

loT  conj.  MS.*  himself.  Capell,    Starting  forward.  Coll. 

44-     name]  (Q^)  Pope,    word  QqFf.  (ed.  2),  (MS). 
Rowe,  Ulr.  Sta. 

the  instigation  ^  Dr.  Johnson,  took  the  very  life  of  the  whole  speech  by  his  punc- 
tuation, and  hitherto  every  editor  since  his  day  has  made  himself  an  accessory  after 
the  fact. 

Dyce.  More  recently  the  old  punctuation  of  this  line  has  been  brought  back,  first 
by  Staunton  and  next  by  Grant  White,  who  have  both  defended  it  in  notes  which,  I 
must  confess,  are  to  me  hardly  intelligible.  '  In  this  line,  and  the  three  following 
lines,  we  may,  I  think,  discern  traces  of  an  abortive  attempt  (perhaps  by  Sh.  him- 
self) to  remove  the  impropriety  of  representing  a  Christian,  and  not  a  family,  name 
as  the  name  to  be  got  rid  of.  These  lines,  at  any  rate,  interrupt  the  natural  connec- 
••ion  of  the  passage,  and  so  far  from  slurring  over  the  impropriety  in  question,  they 
only  render  it  more  obtrusive.  Sh.  could  scarcely  have  written  ^  be  some  other 
name  :'  but  conjecture  would  be  thrown  away  on  these  four  lines.' — W.  N.  Lettsom. 

41.  42.  nor  any  .  ,  .  name  !]  Mal.  The  transposition  now  made  needs  no  note 
to  support  it;  the  context  in  this  and  many  other  places  supersedes  all  arguments. 
[A«/.  Coll.  Sing.  (ed.  2). 

42.  Belonging]  Steev.  For  the  sake  of  metre  I  am  willing  to  suppose  Sh. 
wrote,  '  'Longing,'  &c.     \_L)yce  (ed.  2). 

S.  Walker.  Qu.  ^^ Longing  /'  a  man.'  Steevens  also  suggests  [as  above].  It 
the  foiio  a  little  below  we  have  behaviour  for  'haviour.  This  part,  however,  is  par- 
ticularly  incorrect  in  that  edition.  The  substitution  of  the  full  or  longer  form  of  a 
word  for  the  abridged  or  shorter  one  is,  I  think,  a  not  unfrequent  error  in  the  folio. 

44.  name]  Ulr.  I  cannot  see  why  Sh.,  in  order  not  to  run  '  name'  into  the 
ground  \todttuhetzen],  should  not,  by  way  of  variety,  have  written  iv^d,  which  could 
heie  very  well  supply  the  place  of  name. 


ACT  IL  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  99 

Call  me  but  love,  and  I'll  be  new  baptized ;  50 

Henceforth  I  never  will  be  Romeo. 

ynl.     What  man  art  thou,  that,  thus  bescreen'd  in  night, 
So  stumblest  on  my  counsel  ? 

Rom.  By  a  name 

I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  I  am. 

My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself,  55 

Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee ; 
Had  I  it  written,  I  would  tear  the  word. 

jful.     My  ears  have  yet  not  drunk  a  hundred  words 
Of  that  tongue's  utterance,  yet  I  know  the  sound. — 
Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ?  Oo 

Rom.     Neither,  fair  maid,  if  either  thee  dislike. 

53,54.     /9/...a/«  .•]  One  line,  Qq.  61.     maid. .. dislike]  Q(:\F{.  saint. ..dis- 

58.  j^/rti'/]  «tVjf/(Q,)Capell,  Var.  please  (QJ  Pqie,  Coll.  Huds.  Hal. 
Huds.  Dyce,  Sta.  Clarke,  Ktly.  saint. ...dislike  Theob.  &c.  Capell,  Var. 

59.  that. ..utterance]  (Q,)  Mai.  thy  (Corn.)  Sing.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly.  maid 
...utterin:^  Qf\Vi,  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  Cambr.  ...mislike  Anon,  conj.*  maid. ..displease 
that... uttering  Pope,  &c.  Capell,  White.  White. 

49.  word]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  This  stage-direction  of  the  (MS.)  probably  denotes  the 
natural  and  eager  manner  of  the  actor  in  the  part  of  Romeo. 

55.  saint]  Del.  This  recalls  their  first  meeting  when,  as  a  pilgrim,  Romeo  had 
thus  greeted  Juliet. 

53,  57.  By  a  name  ....  word]  Hartley  Coleridge  {'Essays,^  &c.,  vol.  ii,  p. 
iq6,  ed.  1851) : 

'  If  't  be  my  name  that  doth  thee  so  oSeod, 
No  more  myself  shall  be  ray  own  name's  friend  ; — 
Say  'tis  accursed  and  fatal,  and  dispraise  it, 
If  written,  blot  it;  if  engraven,  rase  it.' — 

Drayton  :  England's  Heroieal  Epistles,  Henry  to  Rosamond 

The  number  of  passages  in  Drayton's  '  Heroieal  Epistles'  almost  identical  witu 
lines  of  Sh.  prove  that  the  one  must  have  been  indebted  to  the  other.  I  would 
accuse  neither  of  plagiarism.  Property  was  hardly  acknowledged  in  Parnassus  at 
that  time.  There  might  be  no  deception  meant ;  marginal  acknowledgments  were 
not  then  appended  to  plays  or  poems.  It  was  taken  for  granted  that  every  writer 
availed  himself  of  whatever  was  to  his  purpose.  These  resemblances,  however,  are 
for  the  most  part  in  those  early  plays  of  Sh.  which  might  have  been  written  before 
1593,  the  date,  according  to  Dr.  Anderson,  of  Drayton's  •  Heroieal  Epistles,'  the 
style  of  which  throughout,  both  in  the  fashion  of  the  language  and  constitution  of 
the  thought,  is  more  Sh'n  than  any  I  am  acquainted  with.  What  a  pity  that  none 
ef  Drayton's  plays  are  extant !  ^Vhat  they  might  be  in  point  of  plot  is  hard  to  say, 
but  in  the  ?iftf  and  diavoLa  I  doubt  not  they  were  truly  dramatic.  The  Merry  Devil 
of  Edmonton  does  not  read  like  him.  It  has  none  of  the  impassioned  sententious- 
ness  of  his  epistles,  which  are  a  kind  of  monodrame. 

59.  uttering]  Mal.   We  meet  with  almost  the  same  words  as  those  here  attrib- 


lOO  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [ACTii.sc.il 

jfid.     How  cam'st  thou  hither,  tell  me,  and  wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high  and  hard  to  climb. 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here.  65 

Rom.     With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'er-perch  these  walls. 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out: 
And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt ; 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  to  me. 

Jul.     If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee.  70 

Ro7n.     Alack,  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords :  look  thou  but  sweet, 

62.     Two  lines  in  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Com.  Verp.  Ulr.  Del. 

66.     Two  lines  in  Ff.  Sta.  White. 

69.     Uti    (QJ   Capell.      stop   QqFf,  72.      Than  twenty]  Than 'twenty  Al- 

len conj.  MS. 

uted  to  Romeo  in  King  Edward  III,  1596:  '  His  ear  to  drink  her  sweet  tongue's  ut- 
terance.'    \^Sing. 

61.  maid]  Ulr.  The  simple  '  maid'  is  to  me  more  poetic  than  the  constant  repe- 
tition of  the  same  flattery. 

White.  '  Faire  saint'  was  well  changed  to  'fair  maid,'  both  on  account  of  the 
occurrence  of  '  dear  saint'  a  few  lines  above,  and  in  regard  to  the  fitness  of  the  ad- 
jective '  fair.' 

61.  thee  dislike]  Mal.  This  was  the  phraseology  of  Sh.'s  time.  So '\\.  liies  rat 
well  for,  it  pleases  me  well.     \^Sing. 

M.  Mason.    Dislike  here  means  displease.     \^Sing. 

Ulr.  Sh.  might  have  preferred  •  dislike'  to  displease,  because  with  the  latter 
nearly  all  the  vowel  sounds  of  the  line  are  in  e. 

62.  This  line  is  given  as  an  example  by  S.  Walker  ('  Vers.'  p.  ill),  under  his 
rule  XI. :  '  In  Therefore  and  Wherefore  the  accent  is  shifted  at  pleasure  from 
one  syllable  to  the  other.  I  ought  rather  to  say  the  stronger  accent,  for  the  pronun- 
ciation is  always  therefore  or  thirefore,  never  therefore.  I  have  said  that  the  accent 
is  varied  at  pleasure ;  perhaps,  however,  thtrefore  is  the  more  common  pronuncia- 
tion.' (The  accented  capital  letter  is  here  used  to  denote  the  stronger  accent. — 
W.  N.  Lettsom.) 

66.  walls]  Mal.     So  in  The  Hystory  of  Romeus  and  Juliet: 

'  Approching  nere  the  place  from  whence  his  hart  had  life, 
So  light  he  woi  he  left  tht  wall,  and  there  he  spyde  his  wife. 
Who  in  the  windovM  watcht  the  cumming  of  her  lorde.' 

68.  love  attempt]  Ulr.  In  the  preceding  three  lines  I  have  deviated  from  the 
English  eds.,  and  printed  the  word  Love,  the  first  three  times  that  it  occurs,  with  a 
capital  letter,  because  it  appears  to  me  indubitable  that  Romeo  signifies  in  those 
three  places  the  God  of  Love,  and  in  the  fourth  place  contrasts  with  it  his  own  love. 
Only  thus  considered  does  the  third  line  yield  any  clear  sense. 

69.  let]  Mal.  Tliat  is,  no  stop  or  hinderance.     \_Sing.  Haz.  Huds, 


ACT  11,  sc.  ii.] 


ROMEO    AND    JULIET. 


lOI 


And  I  am  proof  against  their  enmity. 

Jul.     I  would  not  for  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 

Rom.     I  have  night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their  eyes;        75 
And,  but  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here ; 
My  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate. 
Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 

Jul.     By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this  place? 

Rom.     By  love,  that  first  did  prompt  me  to  inquire ;  80 

He  lent  me  counsel,  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 
I  am  no  pilot ;  yet,  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise. 

yul.     Thou  know'st  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my  face,  85 

Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek 
For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-night. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny 
What  I  have  spoke;  but  farewell  compliment! 
Dost  thou  love  me?     I  know  thou  wilt  say  'Ay,'  90 

And  I  will  take  thy  word ;  yet,  if  thou  swear'st, 


75.  eyes\  sight  (QJ  Capell,  Var, 
(Corn.),  Sing.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly. 

76.  Anif\  An  Anon,  conj.* 
80.     love\  Love's  Ktly. 

that\  who  (QJ  Capell,  Var.  Sing. 
Huds.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly. 

83.  vast  shore  washed"]  vast  shore 
washt  Q^Q,.  vast  shore  washeth  Q^. 
vast  shore  washet  Q  .  vast-shore-washet 
F,.  vast-shore:  ivashdY^.  vast-shore: 
washed  F  .     vast-shore,  wash'd  F  . 


vast"]  last  Coll.  (ed.  2),  conj. 
farthesfl    furthest   (QJ    Steev. 
(1793).  Var.  (Com.),  Dyce. 

84.  wou/d]  (QJ  Pope,  shou/d  Qq 
Ff,  Rowe. 

89.  compliment'\  complement  QqF^. 
complements  (QJF^F  F  ,  Rowe. 

90.  love  me?  /]  Qq.  Love?  I  F,. 
Love?  O  I  F^Fj.  Love?  O,  I  F^, 
Rowe. 


72.  swords]  Steev.  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  have  copied  this  thought  in  The 
Maid  of  the  Mill :  '  She  bears  an  eye  more  dreadful  than  your  weapon.'     \^Sing, 

76.  And  but]  Mal.  And  so  thou  do  but  love  me,  I  care  not  what  may  befall 
me.     \^JCnt. 

Sing.   But  is  here  used  in  its  exceptive  sense,  without  or  unless.     \_Huds.  Sta. 

78.  prorogued]  Mal.  That  is,  delayed,  deferred  to  a  more  distant  period.  So 
in  IV,  i,  48.     [Sing.  Huds. 

Sing.  (ed.  1).  That  is,  '  I  have  night  to  screen  me; — yet  unless  thou  love  me,  let 
them  find  me  here.  It  were  better  that  they  ended  my  life  at  once,  than  to  have 
death  delayed,  and  to  want  thy  love.'     \_Huds. 

83.  vast]  S.  Walker  {'Crit.,^  vol.  ii,  p.  39).    Lat.,  vastus,  empty,  waste. 

89.  compliment]  M.  Mason.  That  is,  farewell  attention  to  forms.  [Sing.  Knt. 
Huds. 

Sta.   Away  with  formality  and  punctilio  ! 
9* 


102  ROMEO    AND   JUL  ET.  [act  ii,  sc.  IL 

Thou  mayst  prove  false;  at  lovers'  perjuries, 

They  say,  Jove  laughs.     O  gentle  Romeo, 

If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully ; 

Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won,  95 

I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay, 

So  thou  wilt  woo ;  but  else,  not  for  the  world. 

In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond ; 

And  therefore  thou  mayst  think  my  'haviour  light. 

But  trust  me,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true  100 

Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange. 

I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess. 

But  that  thou  overheard'st,  ere  I  was  ware. 

My  true  love's  passion  ;  therefore  pardon  me. 

And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love,  105 

Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 

93.     Iaiighs\  laught  F,.  kavior  Q,. 

95.     thou\  you  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  lOI.     more runnittg]  (QJ  Pope,  coy- 

think' st'\  Qj.    thinkest  The  rest.  ing  Q^QjF,.    more  coying  Q^Q^,  Johns. 

Mj«/t  (Q,)  Pope,  &c.  Ulr.    viore  coyning  Y ^ ^ ^.    more  coin- 

99.      haviour'\  Rowe.    haviour  (Q^)  ing  Rowe. 

F^FjF^,    Mai.    Har.    Sing.    Knt.    Coll.  104.     /r«^ /w^-V] /rw^ /w«  (Q,)FfQj 

Huds.  Dyce,  Hal.    behaviour  QqF,  {be-  truloue  Q^.     trueloue  Q  .    true  loue  Q^. 

93-  Jove  laughs]  Douce.  This  Sh.  found  in  Ovid's  Art  of  Love, — perhaps  in 
Marlowe's  translation,  book  i:  '  For  Jove  himself  sits  in  the  azure  skies.  And  laughi 
below  at  lovers'  perjuries.^  [Huds.^  With  the  following  beautiful  antithesis  to  the 
above  lines  every  reader  of  taste  will  be  gratified.  It  is  given  memoriter  from  some 
old  play,  the  name  of  which  is  forgotten  : 

*When  lovers  etvear  true  faith,  the  list'ning  angels 
Stand  on  the  golden  battlements  of  heaven, 
And  waft  their  vows  to  the  eternal  throne.'    \,Sing.  Heu, 

Dyce  {'Few  Notes'  p.  no,  ed.  1853).  Malone  (who  would  not  allow  that  Sh. 
could  read  Ovid)  observes  that  he  might  'have  caught  this'  from  Greene's  Meta- 
tiiorpho^is.     Yes;  and  he  might  have  found  it  in  Italian  : 

'  Quel  che  si  fa  per  ben  Dio  non  aggrava. 
Ami  ride  el  spergiuro  de  gli  amanti.' 

Bojardo, — Orlando  Innatn.,  hb.  I,  &  ixii,  St  43. 

101.  Strange]  Steev.  That  is,  to  put  on  affected  coldness, to  appear  shy.  \_Sing. 
Haz.'\  In  Greene's  Mamillia,  1593:  'Is  it  the  fashion  in  Padua  Kohc  so  strangt 
with  your  friends  ?'     \^Sta.  Hal. 

Ulr.  To  act  or  to  be  'strange'  requires  no  special  craft  or  cunning.  To  cor  - 
thai  is,  to  be  prim,  demure,  and  therefore,  coying  primness,  affected  modesty,  enaing 
in  a  demure,  reserved  demeanor,  appears  to  me  to  be  much  more  suitable. 

Sta.  To  be  coy,  reserved.     Thus  in  III,  ii,  15,  of  the  present  Play. 

io6.     Which]  Del.   This  does  not  refer  to  '  light  love,'  but  only  to  *  love'  alone 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  103 

Rom.     Lady,  by  yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear, 
That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops, — 

yul.     O,  swear  not  by  the  moon,  th'  inconstant  moon, 
That  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb,  1 10 

Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 

Rom.     What  shall  I  swear  by  ? 

Jit  I.  Do  not  swear  at  all ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self. 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatr>% 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

Rom.  If  my  heart's  dear  love —  II5 

yitl.     Well,  do  not  swear.     Although  I  joy  in  thee, 

107.  blessed'l  Qq.    om.  Ff,  Rowe.  Capell  from  (Q,),  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Dyce 
swearl   (Q,)  Mai.    vow  QqFf,         (ed.  l),  Sta.  Klly. 

Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Del.  Sta.  inconstant']  unconstant  F  F^. 

108.  tops, — ]  Capell.  tops — Rowe.  1 13.  graciousl  glorious  {C^^)  \^\\.^. 
7Iy>J.  QqFf.  115.     heart's  dear]  true  heart's  {(l^) 

109.  th'  inconstant']    the  inconstant  Pope,  &c. 

107.  swear]  Ulr.  Swear,  although  quite  synonymous  with  vow,  is  required  by 
the  reply  of  Juliet. 

Del.  The  ascent  from  vow  to  szvear  in  Juliet's  reply  seems  to  have  been  intended 
by  the  poet. 

S.  Walker.  {'Crit.,'  vol.  i,  p.  215).  The  folio  omits  blessed,  and  has  vow  for 
swear.     Can  this  have  originated  in  the  Profanation  Act  ? 

108.  tips  with  silver]  Holt  White.  This  image  struck  Pope :  '  The  moonbeam 
trembling  falls,  And  tips  with  silver  all  the  walls.' — Imit.  of  Horace.  Again,  in  the 
celebrated  simile  on  the  moon  at  the  conclusion  of  the  eighth  book  of  the  Iliad: 
•And  tips  with  silver  every  mountain's  head.'     \_Sing.  Verp. 

Verp.  Tom  Moore  has  put  it  to  a  profane  use  in  the  way  of  parody,  when,  alluding 
to  the  rouge  with  which  his  dandy  sovereign  used  to  disguise  the  ravages  of  age,  he 
makes  it,  ' tip  his  whiskers'  top  with  red.' 

109.  the  moon]  Hunter.  This  was  a  commonplace  comparison  when  Sh. 
made  it,  and  has  been  made  more  commonplace  by  his  successful  use  of  it.  Thus 
Wilson,  in  his  Rhetorique,  chapter  on  Amplification,  'as  in  speaking  of  constancy, 
to  siiew  tne  sun  who  ever  keepeth  one  course ;  in  speaking  of  inconstancy,  to  shew 
the  moon  which  keepeth  no  certain  course.'  I  have  already  remarked  upon  the 
resemblance  of  the  moonlit  garden  of  Verona  to  the  moonlit  garden  of  Belmont; 
both  scenes  among  the  most  delicious  creations  of  fancy.  At  Belmont  the  silver 
light  of  the  moon  fell  upon  a  pair  not  unhappily  united ;  here  it  falls  on  an  impas- 
sioned youth  in  the  hour  of  his  proudest  exultation,  soon  to  be  followed  by  deepest 
anxieties,  misery  and  death.     Such  is  life ! 

113.  gracious  self]  White.  'Thy  gracious  self  of  QqFf  is  less  suitable  to 
Juliet's  mood,  and  to  the  remainder  of  her  speech,  in  my  jadgment,  and  in  that  of  a 
most  intelligent  and  sympathetic  reader  of  her  own  sex,  to  whom  I  referred  the 
question. 


I04  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  il 

I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night ; 

It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden, 

Too  hke  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be 

Ere  one  can  say  '  It  hghtens.'     Sweet,  good  night!  120 

This  bud  of  love,  by  summer's  ripening  breath. 

May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet 

Good  night,  good  night !  as  sweet  repose  and  rest 

Come  to  thy  heart  as  that  within  my  breast ! 

Rom.     O,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied?  125 

Jul.     What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-night  ? 

Rom.     The  exchange  of  thy  love's  faithful  vow  for  mine. 

jhil.     I  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  didst  request  it ; 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again.  129 

Royn.     Wouldst  thou  withdraw  it  ?  for  what  purpose,  love  ? 

yid.     But  to  be  frank,  and  give  it  thee  again. 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have ; 
My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 

My  love  as  deep ;  the  more  I  give  to  thee,  1 34 

The  more  I  have,  for  both  are  infinite.  \Niirse  calls  within. 

I  hear  some  noise  within  ;  dear  love,  adieu  ! — 
Anon,  good  nurse ! — Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little,  I  will  come  again.  \Exit. 

115.  sudden^  sodden  Y ^.  127.     for   mine\    of   mine    F^F  F^, 
120.     say 'It  lighUns''\  Globe,  Dyce         Rowe. 

(ed.  2),  Cambr.    say,  it  lightens  Q^Q.Q^  130.     Two  lines,  Ff,  Rowe. 

Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Del.  Clarke,   say  it  light-  135.     [Nurse   calls   within.]    Rowe. 

ens  Qj,  Coll.  Ulr.  Huds.  Hal.    say  It  Cals  within.  Ff.    om.  Qq.    After  136  Ff, 

lightens    Han.   Ktly.     say — //  lightens  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr. 

Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Sing,   say — it  lightens  138.     [Exit.]  Rowe.  om.  QqFf.   Exit 

Sta.   say  It  lightens  White.  above.  Dyce. 

116.  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Rem.''  vol.  ii,  p.  154).  With  love,  pure  love,  there  is  al- 
ways an  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  the  object,  a  disinterestedness  by  which  it  is  distin- 
guished from  the  counterfeits  of  its  name.  Compare  this  scene  with  The  Tempest, 
HI,  i.  I  do  not  know  a  more  wonderful  instance  of  Sh.'s  mastery  in  playing  a  dis- 
tinctly rememberable  variation  on  the  same  remembered  air  than  in  the  transporting 
love-confessions  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Ferdinand  and  Miranda.  There  seems 
more  passion  in  the  one,  and  more  dignity  in  the  other ;  yet  you  feel  that  the  sweet 
girlish  lingering  and  busy  movement  of  Juliet,  and  the  calmer  and  more  maidenly 
fondness  of  Miranda,  might  easily  pass  into  each  other.     [A«/.  V'erf.  Huds. 

124.  as  that]    Del.    scil.  as  to  that  heart  within  my  breast. 

131.  frank]  Del.  Thai  is,  bounteous  \_freigedig'\.  To  this  meaning  of  the  word 
the  following  bounty  also  1  sfers. 


ACT  II,  SC.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  I05 

Rom.     O  blessed,  blessed  night!     I  am  afeard, 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a  dream,  140 

Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial. 

Re-enter  JULIET,  above. 

yul.     Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good  night,  indeed. 
If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  honourable, 
Thy  purpose  marriage,  send  me  word  to-morrow. 
By  one  that  I'll  procure  to  come  to  thee,  145 

Where  and  what  time  thou  wilt  perform  the  rite, 
And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  foot  I'll  lay 
And  follow  thee  my  lord  throughout  the  world. 

Nurse.  [  WithU{\     Madam ! 

Jul.     I  come,  anon. — But  if  thou  mean'st  not  well,  i  qti 

I  do  beseech  thee — 

Nurse.  [  Withh{\     Madam  ! 

yul.  By  and  by,  I  come : — 

To  cease  thy  suit,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief: 

139.     afeard'\  afraid  'Rovft,  &.c.  ^a^s'   ^-^i?'* ''y^''^'?.  Pope.Theob.  Warb 

141.  Jlattering-sweet\   Theob.    flat-  149,  151.     Nurse    [Within.]    Capell. 
tering  sweet  QqFf,  Knt.  (ed.  l).                     Within:    Ff.     om.  Qq.    Madam   being 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above.]  Rowe.     En-         put  in  the  margin,  QqFf. 
ter.  FjFjF^.   om.  QqF,.  150.     meati'st']    Pope.      meanst    Qj. 

142.  Two  lines,  Ff.  meanest  The  rest. 

146.     rite']   right   Q^QjF.F^.      rights  152.     suit]  Q^,  Coll.  (MS.)    sute  Q^. 

Q^.     rites  Q^.  stH/e  Q^QjFf,  Rowe,  Knt.  Coll.  (ed.  l), 

148.     thee   my  lord]   thee   my  Love         Ulr.  Del.  Hal. 


143.  honourable]  Mal.   Thus  in  Romeus  and  Juliet : 

'  But  if  your  thought  be  chaste,  and  have  on  vertue  ground, 
If  wedlocke  be  the  ende  and  marke  which  your  desire  hath  found. 
Obedience  set  aside,  unto  my  parents  dewe. 
The  quarell  eke  that  long  agoe  betwene  our  housholdes  grewe. 
Both  me  and  my  tie  I  will  all  whole  to  you  betake. 
And  following  you  where  so  you  goe,  my  fathers  house  forsake ; 
But  if  by  wanton  love  and  by  unlawful!  sute 
You  thinke  in  ripest  yeres  to  plucke  my  maydenhods  dainty  frute. 
You  are  begylde  ;  and  now  your  Juliet  you  beseekes 
To  cease  your  sute,  and  suffer  her  to  live  emong  her  likes.'    [Sing.  Del.  Huds.  Sta. 

152.  thy  suit]  Del.  Malone  changed  'strife'  of  QqFf  into  suit,  probably  be- 
cause that  word  was  used  in  the  corresponding  passage  in  Brooke.  [Caw»<5»-.,  sub- 
stantially. 

Cambr.   Malone  erroneously  attributes  the  reading  ^suit^  to  (Q,). 


I06  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii.  sc.  il 

To-morrow  will  I  send. 

Rotn.  So  thrive  my  soul, — 

yiil.     A  thousand  times  good  night !  \_Exit, 

Rom.     A  thousand  times  the  worse,  to  want  thy  light.         155 
Love  goes  toward  love,  as  schoolboys  from  their  books, 
Hut  love  from  love,  toward  school  with  heavy  looks. 

\_Retiring  slowly. 

He-enter  JULIET,  above. 

Jul.     Hist !  Romeo,  hist ! — O,  for  a  falconer's  voice, 
To  lure  this  tassel-gentle  back  again! 

153.  soul,—\  Tlieol).    soule.  QqFf.  QqFf. 

154.  [Exit.]  Ff.    om.  Qq.  158.     falconer $1     falkners     Qqtt. 

155.  lig^t^,  iight  Clfl^.  falc' ner> s  \\"h.\\.e. 

157.     /(7war</] /^?<'(7r</j  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  1 59.     tassel-gentle']  ll:i.n.    Tassel  gen- 

[Retiring  slowly.]  Mai.    retires  slow-  tie  QqFf,  Pope,   Theob.  Warb.  Camp, 

ly.  Capell,  after  line  156.  Tassel  gently  Rowe.     tercel-gentle  Coll. 

Re-enter...]  Mai.    Enter  Juliet  againe.  Ulr.  Huds.  White,     gentle  tassel  Hzz. 

153.  To-morrow]  Clarke.  Exquisitely  has  Sh.  made  Juliet  pause  not  a  momeiit 
on  the  impossible  alternative  that  Romeo  '  means'  otherwise  than  '  well.'  The  breath- 
less hurry  with  breathing  earnestness  in  all  that  Juliet  utters  during  this  scene  is 
marvellously  true  to  the  jjulsing  rapture  of  a  young  girl's  heart  on  first  learning  that 
she  loves  and  is  beloved. 

159.  tassel-gentle]  Steev.  The  tassel  or  tiercel  (for  so  it  should  be  spelt)  is  the 
male  of  the  gosshaxuk  ;  so  called  because  it  is  a  tierce  or  third  less  than  the  female. 
This  is  equally  true  of  all  birds  of  prey.  This  species  of  hawk  had  the  epithet  ^^«/Z; 
annexed  to  it,  from  the  ease  with  which  it  was  tamed,  and  its  attachment  to  man. 
\^Sing.  Coll.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.  C/iam.]  In  the  Bookeof  Falconrye,  by  George  Turber- 
ville,  Gent.,   1575,  I  find  a  whole  chapter  on  the /alcon-gen/le,  Sec.     So  in  The 

Guardian,  by  Massinger :  ' then  for  an  evening  flight,  A  tiercel-gentle.'    Taylor, 

the  Water  poet,  uses  the  same  expression :  ' by  casting  out  the  lure,  makes  the 

iassell  gentle  come  to  her  fist.'  [Cham.']  Again  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen,  b.  iii, 
c.  iv :  '  Having  far  oflf  espyde  a  tassel-gent.'  In  Decker's  Match  me  in  London, 
1631  :  '  Your  tassel-gentle,  she's  lur'd  off  and  gone.'     [//al. 

Mal.  It  appears  that  certain  hawks  were  considered  as  appropriated  to  certain 
ranks.  The  tercel-gentle  was  appropriated  to  the  prince,  and  thence  was  chosen  by 
Juliet  as  an  appellation  of  her  beloved  Romeo.  In  an  ancient  treatise  entitled 
'  Hawking,  Hunting,  and  Fishing,  with  the  True  Measures  of  Blowing,'  is  the  fol- 
lowing :  *  For  a  Prince,  There  is  a  falcon  gentle,  and  a  tercel  gentle  ;  and  these  arc 
for  a  prince.'     [Substantially,  Sin^.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal. 

Nares.  This  species  of  hawk  was  no  less  commonly  termed  a  falcon-gentle — so 
called,  says  the  Gentleman's  Recreation,  '  for  her  familiar,  courteous  disposition.' 

Sing.  Tardif,  in  his  book  of  Falconry,  says  that  the  tiercel  has  its  name  from 
being  one  of  three  birds  usually  found  in  the  aerie  of  a  falcon,  two  of  which  are 
females,  and  the  third  a  male,  hence  called  tiercelet  01  the  third.  \_Huds.  Sta. 
Clarke. 

Knt.   The  falconer's  voice  was  the  voice  which  the  hawk  was  constrained  by 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  IQJ 

Bondage  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud ;  l6o 

Else  would  I  tear  the  cave  where  Echo  lies, 

And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  than  mine, 

With  repetition  of  my  Romeo's  name. 

Rofi.     It  IS  my  soul  that  calls  upon  my  name ; 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night,  165 

160.  tjot]  om.  Q^.  163.     Romeo's    ttatnel    (Q,)     S'.eev. 
162.     tongue']  voice  (Q,)  Coll.  Sing.         Rotneo  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Knt. 

^ed.  2),  Huds.  Hal.  Ktly.  163,164.     Between  these  lines  Cambr. 

162,   163.      than   mine.    With]     Q^.  insert  i?o/w^.'  from  (Q,). 
then  fnyne  With  Q^.     then  Wyth  Q^Q^  164.     my  soul]  my  love  Q^Qj,  Pope, 

F,.     then  with  The  Y^^,  Rowe.     than  &c. 
with  The  F^.  [returns  to  the  Window.  Capell. 

habit  to  obey.  Gervase  Markham,  in  his  '  Country  Contentments,'  has  picturesquely 
described  the  process  of  training  hawks  to  this  obedience,  'by  watching  and  keeping 
them  from  sleep,  by  a  continual  carrj'ing  of  them  upon  your  fist,  and  by  a  most 
familiar  stroking  and  playing  with  them,  with  the  wing  of  a  dead  fowl,  or  such  like, 
and  by  often  gazing  and  looking  them  in  the  face  with  a  loving  and  gentle  counte- 
nance.' A  hawk  so  *  manned'  was  brought  to  the  lure  '  by  easy  degrees,  and  at  last 
was  taught  to  know  the  voice  and  lure  so  perfectly  that,  either  upon  the  sound  of  the 
one  or  the  sight  of  the  other,  she  will  presently  come  in,  and  be  most  obedient.'  The 
sport  with  a  tassel-gentle  is  spiritedly  described  by  Massinger : 

' Then  for  an  evening  flight 

A  tiercel-gentle,  which  I  call,  my  masters, 

As  he  were  sent  a  messenger  to  the  moon. 

In  such  a  place  flies,  as  he  seems  to  say, 

See  me  or  see  me  not  I  the  partridge  sprung. 

He  makes  his  stoop  ;  but  wanting  breath,  is  forced 

To  cancelier ;  then,  with  such  speed  as  if 

He  carried  lightning  in  his  wings,  he  strikes 

The  trembling  bird,  who  even  in  death  appears 

Proud  to  be  made  his  quarry.' 

White.  '  There  is  a  fawkon  gentyll  and  a  tercell  gentyll.  And  these  be  lor  % 
prynce.' — jHtliana  Bemers. 

Dyce.  Properly  tiercel-gentle,  the  male  of  the  goshawk.  (Tiercelet.  The  TasstU 
or  male  of  any  kind  of  Hawke,  so  tearmed,  because  he  is,  commonly,  a  third  part 
less  than  the  female.' — Cotgrave's  Fr,  and  Engl.  Diet.  '  Tiercell,  Tercell,  or  TasseU 
Vi  the  general  name  for  the  Male  of  all  large  Hawks.' — R.  Holmes's  Academy  of 
Armory  and  Blazon,  B.  ii,  c.  xi,  p.  240. 

161.  tear  the  cave]  Steev.  This  strong  expression  is  more  suitably  employed 
by  Milton  :  '  A  shout  that  tore  hell's  concave,'     \_Sing. 

162.  airy  tongue]  Dyce.  The  word  voice  is  objectionable  here,  because  it  occurs 
just  above ;  and  though  the  expression,  '  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse,'  &c.,  is,  strictly 
speaking,  incorrect,  it  surely  may  be  allowed  in  poetry.  To  '  airy  tongue,'  at  least, 
Milton  saw  no  objection,  for  he  recollected  this  passage  when  he  wrote :  'And  airy 
tongues  that  syllable  men's  names,'  &c. — Comus,  v.  208. 

165.  silver-sweet]  Douce.  In  Pericles  V,  i,  in,  we  have  silver-voiced.  Per- 
haps these  epithets  have  been  formed  from  the  common  notion  that  silver  mixed 


loS 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  II,  sc.  ii. 


Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears ! 

Jul.     Romeo ! 

Ro77t.  My  dear  ? 

jful.  At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 

Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

Rom.  At  the  hour  of  nine. 

Jul.     I  will  not  fail ;  'tis  twenty  years  till  then. 
I  have  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  back. 

Rom.     Let  me  stand  here  till  tliou  remember  it. 

yul.     I  shall  forget,  to  have  thee  still  stand  there, 
Remembering  how  I  love  thy  company. 

Rom.     And  I'll  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget, 
Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this. 

yul.     'Tis  almost  morning ;  I  would  have  thee  gone. 
And  yet  no  further  than  a  wanton's  bird. 


170 


175 


167.  My  dearP]  My  Deere.  Q^Qj. 
Madame.  (Q,)  Mai.  Hal.  My  Neece. 
QjQjF,.  My  sweete.  F,.  My  sweet.  F^ 
F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Har.  Sing.  Camp. 
Com.  llaz.  Coll.  (ed.  2).  My  novice? 
Jackson  conj.  My —  Nurse.  [Within.] 
Madam.  Knt.  Del. 

At  wAat]    (Q,)    Pope.       PVAat 
QqFf,  Knt.  Del.  Sta. 

o']  Theob.     a  QqFf. 

168.  At]   (Q,)    Capell.      By  QqFf, 


Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 

169.     years]  year  Q^. 

172.  /  shall. ..stand]  I  shall  forget 
still,  to  have  thee  stand  Capell.  Pll 
still. ..stand  Rann. 

forget,  to]  forget  to  QJ^,  Coll. 
Ulr.  Del.  White,  Hal. 

175.     home]  name  F^F^F^,  Rowe. 

177.  further]  Ff.  farther  Q(\,  Ca.- 
pell,  Com.  Coll.  Ulr.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 
Cambr. 


with  bells  softens  and  improves  their  tone.  We  say  likewise  that  a  person  is  silver- 
tongued. 

167.  my  dear]  Mal.  I  have  already  shown  that  all  the  alterations  in  F^  were 
made  at  random,  and  I  have  therefore  preserved  the  original  word,  though  less  tender 
than  that  which  was  arbitrarily  substituted  in  its  place.     [Hal. 

Knt.  We  believe  that  the  word  Neece  is  altogether  a  mistake, — that  the  word 
Nurse  was  written,  as  denoting  a  third  interruption  by  her — and  that  Madam,  the 
nse  of  which  was  the  form  of  interruption,  was  omitted  accidentally,  or  was  supposed 
to  be  implied  by  the  word  N'urse.  As  we  have  printed  the  passage  the  metre  is 
correct ;  and  it  is  to  be  observed  that  in  Q^  and  the  subsequent  copies,  at  before 
•what  o'clock,'  which  was  in  (Q,),  is  omitted,  showing  that  a  word  of  two  syllables 
was  wanted  after  my  when  at  was  rejected. 

Ulr.  But  leaving  out  of  view  that  this  [Knight's  emendation]  is  a  very  arbitrary 
conglomerate  of  the  various  readings,  I  think  it  unlikely  that  the  true  reading  has 
been  thereby  attamed,  because  in  my  opinion  there  is  something  laughable  in  making 
the  Nurse  interrupt  Romeo's  reply  just  as  he  had  ejaculated  the  little  word  *My* 

Dyce.  'Neec^  being  evidently  a  blunder  for  ' deere'  and  by  progressive  corrup- 
tion,— '  Deere,'  'Neere,'  'Neece.' 


ACTll.  SC.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  IO9 

Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand, 

Like  a  poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves, 

And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again,  180 

So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. 

Ro7n.     I  would  I  were  thy  bird. 

yiil.  Sweet,  so  would  I ; 

Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 
Good  night,  good  night!  parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow  1 84 

178.      W]io...her\  (QJ  Capell.    That  QqF,  {threed,  QJ.    silken  thred  plucki 

...Air  QqFf,  Rowe.    TXa/.-./^^r  Pope,  &c.  ti  againe  F^F^F^,  Rowe. 
Sta.  181.     loving-jealcrus\  Theob.    loving 

1 80.     silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again]  jealous  QqFf. 
Pope,  silken  thred  plucks  it  backe  againe 

184.  Good  night,  &c.]  Cambr.  This  passage  was  printed  substantially  right  in 
(QJ.  The  Qj  inserted  after  the  first  line  of  Romeo's  speech  the  first  four  of  the 
Friar's,  repeating  them  in  their  proper  place.  In  Juliet's  speech,  the  same  edition, 
by  printing  one  line  as  two  and  mistaking  the  stage- directions,  gave  rise  to  a  further 
corruption  in  Q  .     In  Q^  the  passage  stands : 

*  Good  night,  good  night 
Parting  is  such  sweete  sorrow, 
That  I  shall  say  good  night,  till  it  be  morrow. 

lu.    Sleep  dwel  vpon  thine  eyes,  peace  in  thy  breast 

Ro.    Would  I  were  sleepe  and  peace  so  sweet  to  rest 

The  grey  eyde  mome  smiles  on  the  frowning  night 
Checkring  the  Easteme  Clouds  with  streaks  of  light 
And  darknesse  fleckted  like  a  drunkard  reeles. 
From  forth  dales  pathway,  made  by  Tytans  wheeles. 
Hence  will  I  to  my  ghostly  Friers  close  cell, 
His  helpe  to  craue,  and  my  deare  hap  to  tell.     Exit. 

Enter  Frier  alone  with  a  basket. 

Fri.    The  grey-eyed  mome  smiles  on  the  frowning  night 
Checking  the  Easteme  clowdes  with  streaks  of  light : 
And  fleckeld  darknesse  like  a  drunkard  reeles. 
From  forth  dales  path,  and  Titans  burning  wheeles : 
Now  ere,'  &c. 

In  Qj  we  read : 

'  Good  night,  good  night 
Ro.     Parting  is  such  sweete  sorrow. 

That  I  shall  say  goodnight  till  it  be  morrow. 
/«.     Sleepe  dwell  upon  thine  eyes,  peace  in  thy  breast 
RotH.    Would  I  were  sleepe  and  peace  so  sweete  to  rest 

The  gray-eyde  [' gray  eyde'  Halliwell's  Facsimile.  Ed.]  mome,  fte. 

For  the  rest  Q  follows  Q,  without  any  material  variation,  except  that  it  readi 
•fleckeld'  for  <fla:kted,'  in  the  eighth  line.  The  Q^  has  ejected  the  intruding  linea 
and  distributed  the  dialogue  right.  One  error  alone  remains,  viz.,  that  •  Good  night, 
good  night ....  sorrow'  is  divided  still  into  two  lines.  The  Q  follows  Q  .  F^  fol- 
lows Qj,  as  usual,  without  any  variation  of  importance.  F,,  followed  by  F  and  F^, 
inserts,  *Exit'  after  the  word  '  breast,'  adopts  the  reading  of  F,  down  to  the  end  of 
10 


I  lO 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  II,  sc.  iii 
\_Exit. 


That  I  shall  say  good  night  till  it  be  morrow. 

Rom.     Sleep  dwell  upon  thine  eyes,  peace  in  thy  breast ! 
VVculd  I  were  sleep  and  peace,  so  sweet  to  rest ! 
Hence  will  I  to  my  ghostly  father's  cell, 
His  help  to  crave  and  my  dear  hap  to  tell.  \Rxit. 


Scene  HI.     Friar  Laurence's  cell. 

Enter  Fri.ar  I  AURENXE,  with  a  basket. 

Fri.  L.     The  grey-eyed  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning  night. 
Chequering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of  light : 
And  flecked  darkness  like  a  drunkard  reels 


185.  [Exit.]  Pope.  F^FjF^  after  line 
186.    om.  QqF,. 

188.  father's  ceN]  (Q,)  Capell.  Fri- 
ers dose  cell  QqF^F^F^.  Fries  close  cell 
F,.  Friar's  close  cell  Rowe,  &c.  Knt. 
Corn.  Del. 

189.  dear"]  good  (Q,)  Coll.  Ulr. 
White,  Hal. 

Scene  hi.]  Han.  Scene  iv.  Rowe, 
Pope.    Scene  v.  Capell. 

Friar  Laurence's  cell.]  Mai.  A  Mon- 
astery. Rowe.  Fields  near  a  Convent. 
Capell. 


Enter....]  Rowe.  Enter  Frier  aione 
with  a  basket.  QqFf. 

1-4.  As  part  of  Rom.'s  speech  in 
last  scene,  Ff,  Rowe.  (See  note  of 
Cambr.) 

2.  Chequering]  ChechingQ^.  Cheer- 
ing Eng.  Par. 

3.  Jlecked  darkness]  Steev.  from 
(Q,).  Jleckeld  darknesse  Qq.  fleckled 
darknesse  F,.  Darknesse  fleckeV d  F^F 
F^.  darkness  flecker' d  Pope,  &c.  fleck- 
ered darkness  Capell. 


Romeo's  speech,  and  makes  the  Friar's  begin  at  line  5,  thus  :  ^Fri.  Now  ere  the  Sun 
advance  his  burning  eye,'  &c.  Pope  restored  the  true  arrangement.  In  the  fourth 
line  of  the  Friar's  speech  he  introduced  '  pathway  made  by  Titan's  wheels'  from  the 
passage  as  first  given  in  QjQ.F,. 

188.  ghostly  father's]  Ulr.  As  a  *  friar'  is  a  monk  or  brother  of  some  order, 
and  as  the  word  implies  his  spiritual  character,  the  addition  of  '  ghostly '  has  no 
meaning;  and  hence  'friar^  is  apparently  a  mere  misprint,  or  else  a  S(jphisti cation 
of  the  printer.     Knight  does  not  explain  how  '  ghostly  friar'  is  to  be  understood. 

Sta.    That  is,  my  spiritual  father. 

I,  Friar  L.]  Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  ii,  p.  155).  The  reverend  character  of 
the  Friar,  like  all  Sh.'s  representations  of  the  great  professions,  is  very  delightful  and 
traLnquillizing,  yet  it  is  no  digression,  but  immediately  necessary  to  the  carrying  on 
of  the  plot.     [  Verp.  Htids. 

I.  grey-eyed]  Del.  'Grey,'  meaning  ^bright  blue^  is  also  used  in  Much  Ado. 
V,  iii,  27. 

Dyce.    Gray  is  blue,  azure. 

3.  flecked]  Steev.  That  is,  spotted,  dappled,  streaked  or  variegated.  [Ci?//.] 
So  used  by  Churchyard  in  his  Legend  of  Thomas  Mowbray,  where,  speaking  of  tha 
Germans  he  says :  •  They  swear,  they  curse,  they  drink  till  they  be  flecked.^     [Hal "] 


ACT  II,  SC.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 1 1 

From  forth  day's  path  and  Titan's  fiery  wheels. 

Now,  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye,  5 

The  day  to  cheer  and  night's  dank  dew  to  dry, 

I  must  up-fill  this  osier  cage  of  ours 

With  baleful  weeds  and  precious-juiced  flowers. 

The  earth  that's  nature's  mother  is  her  tomb ; 


* 


4.    /^M-.^^ry]  (Q,)  Mai.   path,  and  (ed.  i),  Haz.  Huds. 

Titafts  burning  QqF^.    path-way,  made  8.     baleful^  hateful  Brae  conj. 

by  Titan's  F^F^F^,   Rowe,  Pope,  Har.  precious-juiced'\  Pope,    precioui 

Sing.  Camp.  Haz.  Ulr.  Ktly.  jtiiced  QqFf. 

7.     up-fill'\  fill  up  Pope,  &c.   Sing.  9.     mother  is\  mother  in  Q^Qj. 

Lord  Surrey  uses  the  same  word  in  his  Transl.  of  the  Fourth  ^neid :  '  Her  quiver- 
ing cheekes  yf^c/^^a'  with  deadly  staine,'  \_Sing.  Huds.  Hal.']  Also  in  Much  Ado, 
V,  iii,  27 :  'Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  grey.'     \_Sta.  Hal. 

^LA.L.  Still  used  in  Scotland,  where  '  a  flecked  cow'  is  a  common  expression.  See 
Gloss,  to  Gawin  Douglas's  Transl.  of  Virgil,  in  v.  fleckit.     \_Hal. 

Nares.  To  spot.  German,  Gothic,  and  Danish  :  •  We'll  fleck  our  white  steeds  in 
your  Christian  blood,'  Four  Prentices,  O.  PI.,  vi,  538.     \_Sing.  Huds. 

4.  fiery  wheels]  Knt.  It  appears  to  us  that  Sh.  was  making  experiments  upon 
the  margin  of  the  first  copy  of  the  change  of  a  word  or  so,  and  leaving  the  MS. 
apon  the  page  without  obliterating  the  original  passage,  it  came  to  be  inserted  twice. 

Sta.  The  editor  or  printer  of  F^  thought  he  was  correcting  the  blunder  by  cross- 
ing the  lines  out  of  the  Friar's  speech  and  assigning  them  to  Romeo. 

7.  osier  cage]  Steev.    In  the  13th  Song  of  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  speaking  of  a 

hermit : 

'  His  happy  time  he  spends  the  works  of  God  to  see, 
In  those  so  sundrj'  herbs  which  there  in  plenty  grow. 
Whose  sundry  strange  effects  he  only  seeks  to  know. 
And  in  a  little  maund,  being  made  of  oziers  small. 
Which  serveth  him  to  do  full  many  a  thing  withal. 
He  very  choicely  sorts  his  simples  got  abroad.'    [Sing.  Hudt. 

8.  precious-juiced  flovyers]  Steev.  Sh.,  on  his  introduction  of  Friar  Laurence, 
has  very  artificially  prepared  us  for  the  part  he  is  afterwards  to  sustain.  Having  thus 
early  discovered  him  to  be  a  chemist,  we  are  not  surprised  when  we  find  him  fur- 
nishing the  draught  which  produces  the  catastrophe  of  the  piece.     \_Sing.  Huds. 

Farmer.  This  eulogium  on  the  hidden  powers  of  nature  affords  a  natural  intro- 
duction to  the  Friar's  furnishing  Juliet  with  the  sleeping  potion  in  Act  IV.     [Com. 
Verp.  Sta. 
Mal.  Compare  the  poem  : 

'  But  not,  in  vayne,  (my  childe)  hath  all  my  wand'ring  byn  ; 
What  force  the  stones,  the  plants,  and  tnttals  have  to  woorke. 
And  divers  other  thinges  that  in  the  bowels  of  earth  do  loorke. 
With  care  I  have  sought  out,  with  payne  I  did  them  prove.' 

ISing.  Com.  Huds.  Verf. 

9.  her  tomb]  Steev.  cites  Lucretius  [Z?i5.  v,  259,  ed.  Lachmann,  1850]  :  'Omni- 
parens  eadem  rerum  commune  sepulchrum.'  \_Sing.  Knt.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.]  And 
Milton :  •  The  tomb  of  nature,  and  perhaps  her  grave.'     \_Sing.  Knt.  Verp.  Huds. 


1 1 2  ROMEO   AND  JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  ih. 

What  is  her  burying  grave,  that  is  her  womb.  lO 

And  from  her  womb  children  of  divers  kind 

We  sucking  on  her  natural  bosom  find, 

Many  for  many  virtues  excellent, 

None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  different. 

O,  mickle  is  the  powerful  grace  that  lies  15 

In  herbs,  plants,  stones,  and  their  true  qualities ; 

For  nought  so  vile  that  on  the  earth  doth  live, 

But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doth  give ; 

Nor  aught  so  good,  but,  strain'd  from  that  fair  use, 

Revolts  from  true  birth,  stumbling  on  abuse.  20 

Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied, 

And  vice  sometime's  by  action  dignified. 

Within  the  infant  rind  of  this  weak  flower 

16.     herbs,     plants\     (Q,)      Capell.  22.     sometime's    by    cu:tion'\    Capell. 

plants,     hearbes     QqFf      \hearbs     or  sometimes  by  action  (Q,),  Camp.  Haz. 

herbs), 'S)'i2^.    herbs,  stems  ox  herbs,  flow-  Dyce  (ed.  i).   sometime  by  action  Qc(Fi, 

ers  Theob.  conj.  Rowe,  Pope,  Momm.     sometime  by  ac- 

18.     to'\  to't  Han.  tioti's  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Johns. 

20.    from...stumbling'\    to  vice,   and  23.     ■weak'\  QqFf.     small  (QJ  Pope, 

stumbles  {(^^  Pope,    from's  true  birth  &c.  Capell,  Var.  (Com.),  Sing.  Dyce, 

stumbling  Han.  Clarke,  Cambr.  Ktly. 

Mal.  So  in  Pericles,  II,  iii,  46.     [^Sing.  Sta. 

Knt.  We  would  ask,  did  Sh.  and  Milton  go  to  the  same  common  source  ?  Farmer 
has  not  solved  this  question  in  his  •  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Sh.' 

15.  mickle]  Ulr.  A  word,  already  half  obsolete  in  Sh.'s  day,  which,  except  in 
Henry  V  (in  the  mouth  of  Pistol!),  is  found  only  in  Sh.'s  youthful  pieces  (in  the 
Com.  of  Errors  and  in  both  Parts  of  Hen.  VI) — an  additional  proof  that  Romeo  an/ 
Juliet  should  be  reckoned  among  his  earlier  works. 

Del.  Sh.  uses  it  more  frequently  in  pathetic  speeches. 

15.  powerful  grace]  Johnson.    Efficacious  virtue.    [^Sing. 

22.  sometime's  .  .  .  dignified]  Mommsen.  It  may  be  questioned  if  sometimes 
oe  rightly  extracted  from  the  sometimes  of  Q,,  since,  I  suppose,  only  the  more 
common  (trivialer)  form  in  s  is  meant  for  the  more  poetic  form  without  s.  (Comp. 
II,  iv,  1S5,  where  the  sedula  Nutrix  speaks.)  Dignify,  used  intransitively,  like  mul- 
tiply, might  be  here  permitted,  and  the  interchange  of  Present  and  Aorist  to  express 
what  is  customary  would  be  thoroughly  poetic  if  we  write,  as  it  is  transmitted  to  us 
by  all  old  copies. 

23-30.  Hunter.  The  beautiful  lines  given  to  the  Friar  are  introduced  for  the 
sake  of  repose ;  but  in  the  choice  of  the  topic  in  these  seven  lines  the  Poet  seems  to 
have  had  a  further  view.  Poison  is  hereafter  to  become  a  main  agent  in  the  piece, 
and  the  Poet  prepares  the  audience  for  the  use  of  poison  by  familiarizing  them,  in  the 
early  portion  of  the  play,  with  the  idea,  and  thus  preparing  them  to  witness  the  use 
of  it  without  being  so  much  shocked  as  they  would  be  were  no  such  preparations 
made.     This  is  not  the  only  passage  in  the  earlier  scenes  in  which  poison  is  spoken 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET,  1 1 J 

Poison  hath  residence,  and  medicine  power : 

For  this,  being  smelt,  with  that  part  cheers  each  part,  25 

Being  tasted,  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart. 

Two  such  opposed  kings  encamp  them  still 

In  man  as  well  as  herbs, — Grace  and  rude  Will ; 

And  where  the  worser  is  predominant. 

Full  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant.  30 

24.  medicini\  medic' nal  Warb.  conj.  26.     slays\  siaies  Q^,  Momm. 
nted'cine's  Capell  conj.  senses]  sence  Q  . 

25.  smelt, with  that  part]  Yi.    smelt  27.     opposed]  oppos' d  Y  ^ ^. 

with  that  part,  Qq.      smelt,  ivith  that  kings]    kinds    Rowe    (ed.    2)*. 

sense  Pope,  &c.      smelt,  with  that  act  foes  (QJ  Pope,  &c.  Var.  (Com.),  HaL 

Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.),    smelt  to,  with  that  Kin  Warb.     things  Anon,  conj.* 
Anon,  conj.,  from  (Q,)^ 


* 


of.  The  epithet  '  rude,'  applied  to  the  will,  is  not  open  to  much  objection,  but  it 
appears  to  have  been  suggested  to  the  Poet's  mind  by  a  singular  process,  of  which 
there  are  other  instances.  The  words  '  herb'  and  ♦  grace,'  occurring  together,  intro- 
duced into  his  mind  the  idea  of  the  plant  called  herb  of  grace,  and  this  brought  with 
it  its  other  name,  '  rue,'  and  '  rue'  suggested  '  rude.' 

25.  with  that  part]  Sing.  That  is,  with  its  odour.  Not,  as  Malone  says,  'with 
the  olfactory  nerves,  the  part  that  smells.'     \_Hiids. 

Clarke.  We  incline  to  think,  from  the  general  construction  of  the  sentence,  and 
the  use  of  '  with'  in  the  two  clauses,  that  Malone  is  right. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  common  reading,  *that/ar/,'  is  certainly  wrong,  the  old 
printer  having  caught  with  his  eye  the  last  word  of  the  line,  and  composed  it  twice 
over  by  mistake. 

26.  slays]  MoMMSEN.  Q^  here  gives  us  a  beautiful  reading  in  stays  instead  of 
slays,  which  is  nothing  but  a  misprint  in  Q  ,  although  it  has  stood  its  ground  for  250 
years.  *  To  bring  the  heart  to  a  stand-still,  and  with  it  all  the  senses,'  is  certainly  a 
better  expression  than  » To  slay  the  heart  and  all  the  senses.' 

27.  opposed  kings]  Mal.    So  in  A  Lover's  Complaint :  ' terror  and  dear 

modesty  Encamped  in  hearts,  but  fighting  outwardly.'  Sh.  has  more  than  once 
alluded  to  these  opposed  foes,  contending  for  the  dominion  of  man.  So  in  Othello, 
*',  ii,  208.     Again  in  his  144th  Sonnet.     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Steev.  Sh.  might  have  remembered  the  following  passage  in  the  old  play  of  the 
Misfortunes  of  /irthur,  1587  ['written  by  Thomas  Hughes,  with  some  slight  assist- 
ance from  others.' — Dyce  (ed.  2)]  :  '  Peace  hath  three  foes  encamped  in  our  breasts, 
Ambition,  wrath,  and  envie.'     \^Hal.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Knt.  Opposed  foes  [of  (Q,)]  has  not  the  propriety  of  opposed  kings — a  thor- 
oughly Shaksperian  phrase. 

Verp.  That  is,  moral  chiefs  contending  for  the  rule  of  man. 

Coll.  (2d  ed.).  May  not  the  true  reading  be  kinds?  Still,  the  verb  » encamp'  i% 
opposed  to  this  change. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).    The  reading  of  (Q^)  is  perhaps  to  be  preferred. 

Birch  {^Inquiry  into  the  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Sh.'  1848)  [cites  this  speech 
10*  H 


114  ROMEO   AND   JUUET.  [ACT  ii.  5C.  UL 

Enter  RoMEO. 

Rom.     Good  morrow,  father. 

Fri.  L.  Benedicite ! 

What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me  ? — 
Young  son,  it  argues  a  distemper'd  head 
So  soon  to  bid  good  morrow  to  thy  bed : 

Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man's  eye,  35 

And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie ; 
But  where  unbruised  youth  with  unstuff'd  brain 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth  reign : 
Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure 

Thou  art  up-roused  by  some  distemperature ;  40 

Or  if  not  so,  then  here  I  hit  it  right, 
Our  Romeo  hath  not  been  in  bed  to-night. 

Rom.     That  last  is  true ;  the  sweeter  rest  was  mine. 

30.  Enter    Romeo.]     Pope.      After         salutes  mine  ear  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 
line  22  QqFf,  Ulr.  36.     lodges^    lodgeth   F^F^F^,    Rowe, 

31.  i)V«^fl'/<-z/'<']  Continued  to  Romeo        &c. 

by  Rann.  (Anon.  conj.  Gent.  Mag.  LX,  37.     unbruised'\unbtisiedQ.oVi..{^\?i). 

681).  Ulr. 

32.  rojeet^  soon  (QJ  Bos.  40.     dj>  some']  (Q,)  Pope,    wit/i  some 
saluteth  me'}  salute  them  F^FjF^.  QqFf,  Sta, 

of  the  Friar  as  one  proof  of  Sh.'s  atheism].  The  Friar  is  more  of  a  philosopher 
than  a  priest;  yet  he  is  religious,  if  the  use  of  sacred  names  on  light  occasions  in 
conversation  with  Romeo  can  be  credited  to  that  account :  and  so  are  all  the  charac- 
ters, if  the  profanity  of  Sh.,  in  women  too,  can  be  received  in  that  sense.  Whilst 
religion  was  omitted  in  the  superior  characters,  and  those  whom  it  more  especially 
concerned,  it  was  given  to  inferior  personages  of  the  play,  such  as  Benvolio  and 
Balthasar,  its  commonplaces  being  put  into  their  mouths. 

30.  enter  Romeo]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  entrance  of  Romeo  is  marked  in  QqFf 
"iight  lines  before  he  speaks ;  perhaps  he  was  intended  to  stand  back  for  a  time  in 
order  not  to  interrupt  the  Friar's  reflections. 

Ulr.  As  I  cannot  perceive  why  the  English  edd.  have  moved  this  stage-direction 
down  to  the  end  of  the  Friar's  speech,  thereby  correcting  away  Romeo's  significant, 
respectful  silence  until  the  Father  made  a  pause,  I  have  replaced  it  in  its  original 
position. 

Del.  In  the  stage  MS.  this  was  a  notification  to  tlie  actor  to  be  ready  at  the  right 
mstant.     S^Sta.  subs. 

37.  unbruised]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  (MS.)  has  kw^mwVo',  but  so  questionably  th.it 
«re  do  not  think  it  expedient  to  disturb  the  received  and  authorized  text. 

White.  Collier's  (MS.)  correction  is  most  plausible.  But  the  epithet  '  vnbrujed' 
*as  such  pertinence  in  the  mouth  of  an  old  man,  and  one  who  had  practice  and  skiU 
in  leechcraft,  that  it  cannot  safely  be  disturbed. 


ACT  II.  sc.  tii.l  FO\fEO   AND   JULIET.  II5 

Fri.  L.     God  pardon  sin  !  wast  thou  with  Rosah'ne  ? 

Rom.     With  Rosah'ne,  my  ghostly  father  ?  no  ;  45 

I  have  forgot  that  name  and  that  name's  woe. 

Fii.  L.     That's  my  good  son  :  but  where  hast  thou  been  then  ? 

Rom.     I'll  tell  thee  ere  thou  ask  it  me  again. 
I  have  been  feasting  with  mine  enemy ; 

Where  on  a  sudden  one  hath  wounded  me,  50 

That's  by  me  wounded  ;  both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies. 
I  bear  no  hatred,  blessed  man,  for,  lo. 
My  intercession  likewise  steads  my  foe. 

Fri.  L.     Be  plain,  good  son,  and  homely  in  thy  drift;  55 

Riddling  confession  finds  but  riddling  shrift. 

55.     and'\  Qq.    rest  Ff,  Rowe,  Johns. 

52.  physic  lies]  M.  Mason.  This  is  one  of  the  passages  in  which  our  author 
has  sacrificed  grammar  to  rhyme. 

Knt.  ^lason's  observation  is  made  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  he  calls  Romeo's 
impassioned  language  '  quaint  jargon.'  Before  Sh.  was  accused  of  sacrificing  gram- 
mar, it  ought  to  have  been  shown  that  his  idiom  was  essentially  different  from  that 
of  his  predecessors  and  his  contemporaries.  [Knight  here  quotes  Percy  and  Toilet 
as  cited  by  Ulrici  in  the  Prologue.]  Malone  has  rightly  stated  the  principle  upon 
which  such  idioms,  which  appear  false  concords  to  us,  should  be  corrected ;  that  is, 
'  to  substitute  the  modem  idiom  in  all  places  except  where  either  the  metre  or  rhyme 
renders  it  impossible.'  But  to  those  who  can  feel  the  value  of  a  slight  sprinkling  of 
our  antique  phraseology,  it  is  pleasant  to  drop  upon  the  instances  in  which  correction 
is  impossible.  We  would  not  part  with  the  exquisite  bit  of  false  concord,  as  we 
must  now  term  it,  in  the  last  word  of  the  four  following  lines  for  all  that  Sh.'s  gram- 
mar-correctors have  ever  written : 

'  Hark  I  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 
On  chalic'd  flowers  that  lies.' 

S5ING.  Sh.  must  not  be  tried  by  rules  which  were  invented  after  his  time.  Ws 
have  the  same  grammatical  construction  in  Venus  and  Adonis,  1128:  '  WTiere  lol 
two  lamps  burnt  out  in  darkness  lies.^     Again  in  I,  iv,  91  of  this  play. 

Delius.  By  a  Shakespearian  license,  the  singular  verb  lies  follows  the  plural  both 
our  remedies,  not  only  because  the  two  singular  nouns  helj)  and  physic  separate  the 
verb  from  its  subject,  but  because  the  plural,  remedies,  arose  from  its  connection  with 
both,  and  both  our  remedies  is  in  reality  a  singular — the  remedy  of  both  of  tis.  Thus 
in  All's  Well,  I,  iii, '  both  our  mothers' — the  mother  of  both  of  us.  Also  in  Cym'oe- 
line,  II,  ii :  '  both  your  wills' — the  will  of  both  of  you. 

White.  The  apparent  want  of  grammatical  agreement  here  is  the  result  neithei 
of  ignorance  nor  oversight.  [In  a  note  on  Cymbeline,  II,  iii,  21.]  The  disagree- 
ment in  number  between  '  lies'  and  its  nominative  is  not  worth  all  that  has  been 
written  about  it.     A  relic  of  an  old  usage,  it  was  common  enough  in  Sh.'s  day. 


Il6  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  n,  sa  iil 

Rotn.     Then  plainly  know,  my  heart's  dear  love  is  set 
On  the  fair  daughter  of  rich  Capulet ; 
As  mine  on  hers,  so  hers  is  set  on  mine ; 

And  all  combined,  save  what  thou  must  combine  6c 

By  holy  marriage ;  when,  and  where,  and  how, 
We  met,  we  woo'd  and  made  exchange  of  vow, 
I'll  tell  thee  as  we  pass ;  but  this  I  pray, 
That  thou  consent  to  marry  us  to-day. 

Fri.  L.     Holy  Saint  Francis,  what  a  change  is  here !  65 

Is  Rosaline,  whom  thou  didst  love  so  dear. 
So  soon  forsaken  ?  young  men's  love  then  lies 
Not  truly  in  their  hearts,  but  in  their  eyes. 
Jesu  Maria,  what  a  deal  of  brine 

Hath  wash'd  thy  sallow  cheeks  for  Rosaline !  70 

How  much  salt  water  thrown  away  in  waste, 
To  season  love,  that  of  it  doth  not  taste ! 
The  sun  not  yet  thy  sighs  from  heaven  clears, 
Thy  old  groans  ring  yet  in  my  ancient  ears ; 
Lo,  here  upon  thy  cheek  the  stain  doth  sit  75 

Of  an  old  tear  that  is  not  wash'd  off  yet. 
If  e'er  thou  wast  thyself  and  these  woes  thine, 
Thou  and  these  woes  were  all  for  Rosaline ; 
And  art  thou  changed  ?  pronounce  this  sentence  then  : 
Women  may  fall  when  there's  no  strength  in  men.  80 

Rovi.     Thou  chid'st  me  oft  for  loving  Rosaline. 

Fri.  L.     For  doting,  not  for  loving,  pupil  mine. 

Rom.     And  bad'st  me  bury  love. 

Fri.  L.  Not  in  a  grave, 

To  lay  one  in,  another  out  to  have. 

Ro7n.     I  pray  thee,  chide  not :  .she  whom  I  love  now  85 

Doth  grace  for  grace  and  love  for  love  allow ; 

66.  whom-\  (QJ  Pope,  that  QqFf,  ing  Q,Q,F,.  yet  ring  Q^F,QjF,r^, 
Knt.  Com.  Sta.  Cham.  Cambr.  Rowe,  Capell,  Ulr. 

69.  Jesu  Maria]  Holy  Saint  Fran-  my]  mine  Q^Q,,  Cambr. 

ftf  Johns.  85.     chide  not:  she  whom  /]    Pope 

70.  sallow]  fallow  F,FjF^.  from  (Q,).    chide  me  not,  her  I  QqFf, 
74.     ring  yet]  {Q^^)   Pope,    yet  ring-         Rowe,  Ulr.  Del. 

7a.  To  season  love]  Del.  The  metaphor  of  the  salt  in  tears,  which  serves  to 
preserve  or  season  anything,  is  very  common  in  Sh.  For  instance,  in  All's  Well, 
I-i.  55 


ACT  II,  SC.  iv.] 


ROMEO    AND    JULIET. 


117 


The  other  did  not  so. 

Ffi.  L.  O,  she  knew  well 

Thy  love  did  read  by  rote  and  could  not  spell. 
But  come,  young  waverer,  come,  go  with  me, 
In  one  respect  I'll  thy  assistant  be ;  90 

For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  prove. 
To  turn  your  households'  rancour  to  pure  love. 

Ro7n.     O,  let  us  hence ;  I  stand  on  sudden  haste. 

Pri.  L,    Wisely  and  slow ;  they  stumble  that  run  fast.   \Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.    A  street. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 

Mer.     Where  the  devil  should  this  Romeo  be  ? 
Came  he  not  home  to-night  ? 

Ben.     Not  to  his  father's  ;  I  spoke  with  his  man. 

Mer.     Why,  that  same  pale  hard-hearted  wench,  that  Rosaline, 


8S.  and  cou!d'\  (QJ  Pope,  (hat 
could  QqFf,  Rowe. 

89.    go\  andgoe  Q_^Qj. 

92.  households^  rancour]  Capell. 
housholds  rancor  Qq.  houshould  rancor 
F,.  houshold  rancord  F^F  .  houshold- 
rancour  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

Scene  iv.]  Han.  Scene  v.  Rowe, 
Pope.    Act  lu.  Scene  i.  Capell. 

A  street.]  Capell.    The  street.  Rowe. 


1-3.  As  in  Steev.  et  seq.  Prose  in 
QqFf,  Cambr.  Capell  ends  lines  :  be  ? 
...father's. ..man. 

I.  Where]  Why,  where  Capell  from 
(QJ,  Dyce  (ed.  2).    Where  Ktly. 

4.  Why]  QqFf.  Ay  Capell.  Ah 
(Q,),  Mai.  Var.  Sing.  Dyce,  Clarke, 
Cambr.  Ktly. 

4,  5.     Prose  in  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  (Johns.) 


88.  could  not  spell]  Ulr.  The  sense  is,  Rosaline  well  knew  that  thy  love 
(which)  could  not  spell,  (and  hence)  only  recited  by  rote  (what  it  said),  i.  e.,  a 
phrase  learned  by  heart,  (mere  appearance),  was  no  true  love. 

Del.  Romeo's  love  read  only  what  was  learned  mechanically  by  heart,  without  a 
genuine  knowledge  of  the  letters ;  his  love  was  something  purely  external,  nothing 
of  a  nature  penetrating  to  the  subject. 

93.  I  stand]  Steev.   So  in  King  Rich.  Ill :  IV,  ii,  59 :  • it  stands  me  much 

upon.  To  stop  all  hopes,'  &c.     \_Sing.  Sta. 

Sing.  '  It  is  incumbent  upon  me,  or  it  is  of  importance  to  me,  tc  use  extreme 
haste.' 

Sta.  It  imports  me  much  to  be  speedy.  So  in  Rich.  II :  II,  iii.  I -58 :  'It  standi 
your  grace  jipon,  to  do  him  right.' 

4.  that  Rosaline]  Clarke.   The  epithet  'pale'  here,  and  still  more,  in  line  14, 


IlS  ROAfEG   AND   JULIET.  f act  ii,  sc.  W. 

Torments  him  so  that  he  will  sure  run  mad.  5 

Ben.     Tybalt,  the  kinsman  to  old  Capulet, 
Hath  sent  a  letter  to  his  father's  house. 

Mcr.     A  challenge,  on  my  life. 

Ben.     Romeo  will  answer  it. 

Mcr.     Any  man  that  can  write  may  answer  a  letter.  lO 

Ben.  Nay,  he  will  answer  the  letter's  master,  how  he  dares, 
being  dared. 

Mer.  Alas,  poor  Romeo,  he  is  already  dead !  stabbed  with  a 
white  wench's  black  eye;  shot  thorough  the  ear  with  a  love- 
song  ;  the  very  pin  of  his  heart  cleft  with  the  blind  bow-boy's 
butt-shaft;  and  is  he  a  man  to  encounter  Tybalt? 

b,  7.     Veise    (Q,)     Theob.      Prose,  run  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del. 

QqFf.  ^\^lite,  Hal. 

6.     /'^]c/(Q,)  Capell.Var.  Knt.Sing.  Moraw^A]  (Q,)  Capell.    through 

Huds.  Ehxe,  Clarke,  Ktly.  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Har.  Com.  Haz.  Sta. 

14.  shot'\    (Q,)    Capell.     runne   or 

the  expression,  'a  white  wench's  black  eye,'  strike  us  as  significant.  It  seems  to  us 
that  in  depicting  both  the  characters  to  whom  he  has  given  the  name  of  Rosaline, 
Sh.  had  some  special  living  woman  before  his  mind's  eye  as  their  prototj'pe.  The 
few  vivid  lines  with  which  he  has  touched  in  the  sketch  of  Romeo's  Rosaline,  un- 
seen as  she  is  in  the  play,  accord  perfectly  with  the  recurrent  delineations  and  more 
elaborated  portrait  of  Biron's  Rosaline  in  '  Love's  Lab.  L.'  It  is  a  subject  of  ex- 
tremely interesting  investigation,  for  so  liitle  is  to  be  gathered  of  a  personal  nature 
from  Sh.'s  dramatic  writings — he,  like  a  perfect  dramatist,  merging  self  entirely  in 
the  characters  he  draws — that  every  indication,  however  slight,  by  which  we  may 
obtain  a  glimpse  of  himself  or  those  he  knew,  is  most  valuable.  Viewed  by  the 
light  afforded  from  Massey's  '5//.'j  Sonnets,  &'c.,'  the  woman  who  was  the  original 
for  the  portrait  in  •  Love's  L.  L.'  and  the  sketch  here  (both  of  them  '  Rosalines') 
should  be  Lady  Rich  :  but,  however  the  truth  may  be  with  regard  to  her  individual 
identity,  we  have  a  firm  belief  that  she  was  an  actual  woman  known  to  Sh.  in  the 
life. 

12.  being  dared]  Del.  The  phty  upon  dare,  to  venture,  and  dare,  to  challenge, 
occurs  also  in  2  Hen.  VI :  III,  ii,  ;;03. 

15.  pin]  Mal.  The  allusion  is  to  archery.  The  clout  or  white  mark  at  which 
the  arrows  are  directed  was  fastened  by  a  black  pin  placed  in  the  centre  of  it.  [  A'«/. 
Coll.  Verp.  lVhite.'\  To  hit  this  was  the  highest  ambition  of  every  marksman. 
[Ilua's.  Cham.']  In  No  Wit  like  a  Woman's,  by  Middleton,  1657  :  'I'll  cleave  the 
black  pin  in  the  midst  of  the  Tt'^;'/"^.'  In  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine,  1590:  'Our  crown, 
the  pin  that  thousands  seek  to  cleave.'     [Sing. 

Sta.  To  cleave  the  pin  was  to  split  the  wooden  peg  which  attached  the  target  to 
the  butt. 

16.  butt-shaft]  Nares.  A  kind  of  arrow  used  for  shooting  at  butts;  formed 
without  a  barb,  so  as  to  stick  into  the  butts,  and  yet  be  easily  extracted.     \^Dyce. 


ACTii,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEU   AND   JULIET.  1 19 

Ben.     Why,  what  is  Tybalt  ? 

Mer.  More  than  prince  of  cats,  I  can  tell  you.  O,  he  is  the 
courageous  captain  of  compliments.  He  fights  as  you  sing 
prick-song,  keeps  time,  distance  and  proportion;  rests  me  his 
minim  rest,  one,  two,  and  the  third  in  your  bosom;  the  very 

17.     Ben.]  (Q,)Ff.    Ro.  or  Rom.  Qq.  18.    prince\  the  prince  lQ)a.w%.{\'n\). 

17,18.     W]iy...you.    C]  Capell,  from  -4^  w]   (QJ  Capell.     he's  (^aYl, 

{Si})-      IVhy... .Tybalt?   Mer.      More....  Rowe,  &c.  Sta.  Cambr. 

cats.      Oh   QqFf,   Rowe,   &c.      Why....  20.   prick-song'] prick-songs Y ^,'RoyiQ, 

Tybalt ?yi&\.  More. ..cats? — OATheob.  &c.    prick' d  songs  ]Q\m=,. 

Warb.    Why. .. Tybalt  more. ..cats?  yi&x.  21.     r«/'x...r«?j/]  Mai.,  from  (Q,).    he 

O  Rann.  rests,  his  ntinum  rests  Q^.     he  rests  his 

iS.  prince  of  cats]  Warb.  Tybert  is  the  name  given  to  the  cat  in  'Reynard 
ihe  Fox.'     \^Sing.  Knt.  Coll.  Huds.  Cham.  Hal. 

Steev.  So  in  Decker's  Satiromastix,  1 602 :  '  tho'  you  were  Tybert,  the  long- 
tail'd  prince  of  cats.'  Again,  in  Have  with  You  to  Saffron  Walden,  159S  [cor- 
rected to  1596  by  Coll.  (ed.  i)]:  'not  Tibalt  prince  of  cats.^  \_Sing.  Huds.  Cham. 
Sta.  Hal.  Clarke. 

Sta.  Tibert,  Tybert,  or  Tybalt  are  forms  of  the  ancient  name  Thibault.  When 
or  why  the  cat  was  first  so  called  it  is,  perhaps,  hopeless  now  to  inquire.  The  earliest 
instance  cited  by  the  commentators  is  in  '  Reynard  the  Fox' — '  Then  the  King  called 
for  Sir  Tibert,  the  cat,  and  said  to  him,  Sir  Tibert,  you  shall  go  to  Reynard,'  &c., 
ch.  vi ;  and  the  association  was  evidently  not  uncommon,  for  Jonson  speaks  of  cats 
as  tiberts. 

19.  compliments]  Johnson,  [in  note  on  Love's  Lab.  L.,  I,  i,  quoted  by  Dyce 
in  loc.].  Compliment,  in  Sh.'s  time,  did  not  signify,  at  least  did  not  only  signify, 
verbal  civility,  or  phrases  of  courtesy ;  but,  according  to  its  original  meaning,  the 
trappings  or  ornamental  appendages  of  a  character;  in  the  same  manner,  and  on  the 
same  principles  of  speech,  with  accomplishment.  Complement  is,  as  Armado  well 
expresses  it,  the  varnish  of  a  complete  man.  A  captain  of  compliments  is  a  com- 
plete master  of  all  the  laws  of  ceremony,  the  principal  man  in  the  doctrine  of 
punctilio. 

Sta.  One  versed  in  punctilios,  of  point-de-vice  manners, — a  formalist.  '  He  walks 
most  commonly  with  a  clove  or  pick-tooth  in  his  mouth  ;  he  is  the  very  mint  of  com- 
pliment ;  all  his  behaviors  are  printed ;  his  face  is  another  volume  of  essays ;  and 
his  beard  is  an  Aristarchus.' — Ben  Jonson's  Cynthia's  Revels  (Gifford's  ed.),  vol  ii, 
p.  264. 

20.  prick-song]  Nares.  Music  written  down,  sometimes,  more  particularly, 
music  in  parts,  from  the  points  or  dots  with  which  it  is  noted  down.  See  Hawkins, 
ii,  243.  Hence  the  nightingale's  song,  being  more  regularly  musical  than  any  other 
was  often  termed  prick-song.  When  opposed  to  plain  song  it  meant  counter-point, 
as  distinguished  from  mere  melody. 

Knt.  Music  pricked  or  noted  down,  so  as  to  read  according  to  rule,  in  contradis- 
tinction to  music  learnt  by  the  ear  or  sung  from  memory.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

I)YCE  [quotes  Chappell's  'Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,'  &c.,  vol.  i,  p.  51, 
note,  ed.  2]  :  '  harmony  written  or  pricked  down,  in  opposition  to  plain-song, 
where  the  descant  rested  with  the  will  of  the  singer.' 


I20  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  it 

butcher  of  a  silk  button,  a  duellist,  a  duellist;  a  gentleman  of 
the  ver>'  first  house,  of  the  first  and  second  cause.  Ah,  the 
immortal  passado  !  the  punto  reverso  !  the  hay ! 

nn'num  rests  QQ^Q.    he  rests  his  minum  24.     the  hay.']    Q<lFf-     the,  hay! — 

Ff,  Pope,  &c.     rests  his  minum   Rowe  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Johns,    the — hay] 

(ed.  2)*.  Capell.    the  hail  White,  Cambr. 
22.     duellist]  F^.     dualist  The  rest. 

22.  butcher  of  a  silk  button]  Steev.  In  The  Return  from  Parnassus,  i6ot): 
'  Strikes  his  poinado  at  a  3«//i>«'j  breadth.'     \  Clarke.]    This  phrase  also  occurs  in 

the  Fantaisies  de  Bruscambille,  1612,  p.  181 :  ' un  coup  de  mousquet  sans  four- 

-hette  dans  le  sixiesme  bouton .'     \_Sing.  Hal. 

22.  duellist]  Knt.  George  Wither,  in  his  obsequies  upon  the  death  of  Pnnce 
Henry,  thus  introduces  Britannia  lamenting  :  '  Alas !  who  now  shall  grace  my  tourna- 
ments. Or  honour  me  with  deeds  of  chivalrie  ?'  The  tournaments  and  the  chivalrie 
were  then,  however,  but  •  an  insubstantial  pageant  faded.'  Men  had  learnt  to 
revenge  their  private  wrongs  without  the  paraphernalia  of  heralds  and  warders.  In 
the  old  chivalrous  times,  they  might  suppress  any  outbreak  of  hatred  or  passion,  and 
cherish  their  malice  against  each  other  until  it  could  be  legally  gratified ;  so  that, 
according  to  the  phrase  of  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion,  in  his  ordinance  for  permitting 
tournaments,  '  the  peace  of  our  land  be  not  broken,  nor  justice  hindred,  nor  damage 
done  to  our  forests.'  The  private  contests  of  two  knights  were  a  violation  of  the 
laws  of  chivalry.  Chaucer  has  a  remarkable  exemplification  of  this  in  his  '  Knight's 
Tale,'  where  the  Duke,  coming  to  the  plain,  saw  Arcite  and  Palamon  fighting  like 

two  bulls,  and  says  : 

•  But  telleth  me  what  raistere  men  ye  been, 
That  be  so  hardy  for  to  fighten  here 
Withouten  any  judge  or  other  officer, 
As  though  it  were  in  listes  really'  (royally). 

That  duels  were  frequent  in  England  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  we  might  collect,  if 
there  were  no  other  evidence,  from  Sh.  alone.  The  matter  had  been  reduced  to  a 
science.  The  degrees  in  quarreling  were  called  the  causes;  and  these  have  been 
most  happily  ridiculed  by  Sh.  in  As  You  Like  It,  V,  iv,  63-77.  \Mien  Touchstone 
alludes  to  '  the  book,'  he  refers  to  the  works  of  Saviolo  and  Caranza,  who  laid  down 
laws  for  the  duello.  The  wit  of  Sh.  is  the  best  commentary  upon  the  philosophy  of 
Montaigne :  '  Inquire  why  that  man  hazards  his  life  and  honour  upon  the  fortune  of 
his  rapier  and  dagger ;  let  him  acquaint  you  with  the  occasion  of  the  quarrel,  he 
cannot  do  it  without  blushing,  'tis  so  idle  and  frivolous.' — [Essays,  book  iii,  ch.  10.) 
But  philosophy  and  wit  were  equally  unavailing  to  put  down  the  quarrelsome  spirit 
of  the  times;  and  Henry  IV  of  France  in  vain  declared  all  duellists  guilty  of  l^se- 
majest6,  and  punishable  by  death ;  and  James  I  of  England  as  vainly  denounced 
them  in  the  Star-Chamber.  The  practice  of  duelling  went  on  with  us  till  the  civil 
wars  came  to  merge  private  quarrels  in  public  ones.  Burton,  in  his  '  Anatomy  of 
Melancholy,'  has  a  bitter  satire  against  the  nobility,  when  he  says,  they  are  '  like  our 
modem  Frenchmen,  that  had  rather  lose  a  pound  of  blood  in  a  single  combat  than 
a  dro])  of  sweat  in  any  honest  labour.* 

21.  first  house,  &c.]  Warb.  That  is,  one  who  pretends  to  be  at  the  head  of  hi« 
family.     [  "v/a. 

Stbev.  That  is,  a  gentleman  of  the  first  rank,  of  the  first  eminence  among  these 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  121 

Ben.     The  what  ?  25' 

Mer.     The  pox  of  such  antic,  lisping,  affecting  fantasticoes ; 

26.     affecting]  affected  Pope,  &c.  tacies  Q^QjQ^FjF,.    phantasies  (^^^, 

fantasticoes]  (Q,)  Capell.  phan-         Rowe,  &c. 

duellists,  and  one  who  understands  the  whole  science  of  quarreling,  and  will  tell 
jrou  of  the  first  cause  and  the  second  cause  for  which  a  man  is  to  fight.  \^Sing. 
Huds.]  Tybalt  could  not  pretend  to  be  the  head  of  his  family,  as  both  Capulet  and 
Romeo  barred  his  claim  to  that  elevation. 

Mal.    We  find  the  same  expression  in  Fletcher's  Women  Pleas'd  :  '  a  gentleman's 
gone  then;  A  gentleman  of  the  first  house;  there's  the  end  oft.'     \_Sta. 

Sta.  Mercutio's  mockery  is  not  directed  against  the  practice  of  duelling  in  the 
abstract,  for  he  appears  to  be  almost  as  pugnacious  as  the  fiery  Tybalt  himself.  He 
is  ridiculing  the  professors  and  alumni  of  those  academies  established  in  London 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  l6th  century  for  the  study  of  'The  Noble  Science  of 
Defence,'  as  it  was  called, — a  class  who  appear  to  have  prided  themselves  on  the 
punctilious  observance  of  certain  forms  and  an  affected  diction,  which  had  been 
rendered  fashionable  by  the  treatises  of  Saviolo  ['Practise  of  the  Duello,^  Vine. 
Saviolo,  1595]  and  Caranza.  The  most  obvious  meaning  of  the  words,  'A  gentle- 
man of  the  very  first  house,'  appears  to  be  that  Tybalt  was  a  gentleman-scholar  'of 
the  very  first  house'  or  school  of  fencing  of  the  greatest  teacher  existing  at  the 
period.  In  George  Silver's  Paradoxes  of  Defence,  Lond.,  1599,  it  is  stated  that 
there  were  three  '  Italian  Teachers  of  Offence ;'  the  first  of  whom  was  Signior  Rocco, 
who  had  come  into  England  thirty  years  before,  '  He  disbursed  a  great  summe  of 
mony  for  the  lease  of  a  house  in  Warwicke-lane,  which  he  called  his  colledge,  for 
he  thought  it  a  great  disgrace  for  him  to  keepe  a  fence-schoole,  he  being  then 
thought  to  be  the  only  famous  maister  of  the  arte  of  armes  in  the  whole  world.'  '  He 
taught  none  commonly  under  twentie,  forty,  fifty  or  an  hundred  pounds.'  To  be, 
therefore,  a  gentleman  of  such  a  house  as  this,  was  really  '  a  very  ribband  in  the  cap 
of  youth.'  In  the  same  tract  occurs  a  curious  illustration  of  another  expression  in 
the  same  speech  of  Mercutio :  '  the  very  butcher  of  a  silk  button.'  '  One  Austen 
Bagger,  a  verie  tall  gentleman  of  his  handes,'  resolved  to  encounter  Signior  Rocco, 
and  went  to  another  house  which  he  had  in  the  Blackfriars,  '  and  called  to  him  in 
this  manner:  "Signior  Rocco,  thou  that  art  thought  to  be  the  only  cunning  man  in 
the  world  with  thy  weapons ;  thou  that  takest  upon  thee  to  hit  anie  Englishman  with 
a  thrust  upon  anie  button  ...  I  am  come  to  fight  with  thee." '  To  Warburton's 
explanation  Steevens  objects  that  both  Capulet  and  Romeo  preceded  Tybalt  in  gene 
alogical  rank;  but  the  truth  is  that  neither  of  them  at  all  interfered  with  such  clainu 
Romeo  was  of  the  house  of  Capulet  only  by  marriage  with  Juliet;  and  in  the  Hit 
of  persons  represented  in  the  tragedy,  Tybalt  is  called  Nephew  to  Lady  Capulet. 
The  real  heraldical  reference,  if  that  be  the  genuine  sense  of  the  passage,  appears  to 
have  been  quite  overlooked.  When  the  bearing  of  armorial  ensigns  became  reduced 
to  a  science,  a  series  of  differences  was  instituted,  the  more  readily  to  distinguish 
between  the  arms  borne  by  the  several  sons  and  descendants  of  the  same  family,  and 
to  show  their  order  and  consanguinity.  They  consisted  of  six  small  figures,  called 
a  label,  crescent,  mullet,  martlet,  annulet,  and  fleur-de-lis,  which  were  always  to  be 
placed  in  the  most  prominent  part  of  the  coat-armour.  These  signs,  borne  singly, 
were  for  the  sons  of  the  o»  iginal  ancestors,  who  constituted  that  which  heralds 
11 


122  ROMEO  AND   JUUET.  [act  ii.  sc.  iv 

these  new  tuners  of  accents!  'By  Jesu,  a  very  good  blade!  a 
very  tall  man  !  a  very  good  whore !'     Why,  is  not  this  a  lament- 

?7.     tunersi  turners  Rowe.  By  /««]    Jent   Ff,   Rowe,  &c. 

accenis\  accent  ^fXfli^^t  Rowe.         om.  Johns.  Cham. 

denominated  •  the  First  House ;^  the  issue  of  those  sons  formed  '  the  Second  House,' 
and  carried  their  differences  doubled,  beginning  with  the  crescent  surmounted  of  a 
label,  a  crescent  of  a  crescent,  and  so  of  the  rest.  It  was  ordained  by  Otho,  Emperor 
of  Germany,  that  the  eldest  son  of  the  first  member  of  the  first  house  should  be  pre- 
ferred in  dignity  before  his  uncle;  and  the  same  regulation  was  also  established  in 
France,  and  made  to  include  females.  Tybalt  was,  therefore,  the  eldest  son  of  Lady 
Capulet's  elder  brother,  and,  without  pretending  to  be  at  the  head  of  his  family,  was 
still  a  gentleman  descended  of  '  the  very  first  house.' 

The passado,  more  properly /ajja/a, meant  a  step  forward  or  aside  in  fencing:  '  If 
your  enemy  be  first  to  strike  at  you,  and  if,  at  that  instant,  you  would  make  him  a 
passata  or  remove,  it  behoveth  you  to  be  very  ready  with  your  feet  and  hand,  and 
being  to  passe  or  enter,  you  must  take  heede,'  &c. — Saviolo,  H  3. 

The  punto  reverso  was  also  an  Italian  term,  meaning  a  back-handed   stroke: 

' or,  in  both  these  false  thrusts,  when  he  beateth  them  by  with  his  rapier,  you 

may  with  much  sodainenesse  make  a  passata  with  your  left  foote  and  your  Dagger 
commanding  his  Rapier,  you  maie  give  him  a  punta  either  dritta  or  riversa." — 
Saviolo,  K  2. 

Dyce.  [Gloss.).     Halliwell  and  Grant  ^Vhite  adopt  the  perhaps  doubtful  explana 
tion  which  I  gave  long  ago,  viz.,  'a  gentleman  of  the  very  first  rank,  alias  an 
upstart  fellow,  a  nobody ;'  an  explanation  to  which  I  was  led  by  finding  in  Fletcher's 
IVomah's  Prize,  act  iv,  sc.  i : 

' but  to  be  made  a  whim-wham, 

A  jib-crack,  and  a  gentUtnan  o'  tht  first  house. 
For  all  my  kindness  to  her,' 

also  in  Cotgrave's  Fr.  and  Eng.  Diet.,  '  Gentilhomme  de  ville.  A  gentleman  of  the 
first  head,  an  vpstart  Gentleman^  and  in  Coles's  Lat.  and  Eng.  Diet.  •  An  upstart 
Gentleman,  A  Gentleman  of  the  first  head,  homo  novus,  a  se  ortus.^ 

24.  the  punto  reverso]  Hal.  '  The  next  harpie  of  this  breed  is  Scandale  and 
Detraction.  This  is  a  right  malecontent  devill.  You  shall  alwaies  find  him  his  hat 
without  a  band,  his  hose  ungartered,  his  rapier  punto  reverso,  his  lookes  suspititious 
and  heavie,  his  left  hand  continually  on  his  Dagger.' — Lodge's  fVit^s  Miserie,  1596, 
p.  17. 

24.  the  hay]  Johns.  All  the  terms  of  the  modem  fencing-school  were  orig-inally 
Italian ;  the  rapier,  or  small  thrusting-sword,  being  first  used  in  Italy.  The  hay  is 
the  word  hai,  you  have  it,  used  when  a  thrust  reaches  the  antagonist,  from  which 
our  fencers,  on  the  same  occasion,  without  knowing,  I  suppose,  any  reason  for  it, 
cry  out,  ha  !     \^Sing.  Verp.  Huds.  Hal. 

White.   Equivalent  to  the  Latin  habet  (=he  has  it)  it  the  gladiatorial  shows. 

26.  fantasticoes]  Steev.  Nash,  in  Have  with  You  to  Saffron  Walden,  1596, 
«ays :  '  Follow  some  of  these  new-fangled  Galiardo's  and  Signor  Fantastico's,'  &c. 
Again,  in  Decker's  Old  Fortunatus,  1600:  '  I  have  danc'd  with  queens,  dallied  with 
l-.dies,  worn  strange  attire,  seen  fantasticoes,  conversed  with  humourists,'  &c.    [Hal. 


-CT II,  sc  iv.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  123 

able  thing,  grandsire,  that  we  should  be  thus  afflicted  with  these 
strange  flies,  these  fashion-mongers,  these  pardonnez-mois,  who 
stand  so  much  on  the  new  form  that  they  cannot  sit  at  ease  on 
the  old  bench  ?     O,  their  bons,  their  bon?,  !  32 

30.     pardonnez-moij]      Coll.,     from  Cambr. 

Theob.    pardona!  mees  Q.Q,-    pardons  32.     bonj,   their  bonj]    hen's,   their 

mees  Q^.     pardon    mees    Q  .     pardon-  ban's  Theob.     bones,  their  bones  QqFf, 

meg's  F,F,.     pardon-me' s  F  F^,  Rowe,  Rowe,     Pope,     Han.    Capell,     Cambr. 

Pope,  Capell,  Knt.  Ktly.    perdona-mVs  buon's,  their  buon's  Anon,  conj.* 

29.  grandsire]  Warb.  Humourously  apostrophizing  his  ancestors,  whose  sober 
times  were  unacquainted  with  the  fopperies  here  complained  of.     [^Sing.  Huds. 

Ulr.  I  think  that  he  applied  this  title  to  his  friend,  Benvolio,  on  account  of  the 
sedate,  quiet,  solid,  and  sensible  demeanor  which  characterizes  him  through  the 
whole  play,  and  which  ATercutio  distinguishes  as  '  grandfatherly,'  in  opposition  to 
the  fashionable  and  wild  behaviour  of  the  time. 

Clarke.  This  appears  to  be  addressed  to  Benvolio,  partly  in  raillery  of  his  staid 
demeanour,  partly  by  way  of  impersonating  him  as  a  departed  progenitor  who  would 
be  disgusted  could  he  witness  the  affectations  that  have  sprung  up  since  his  time. 

30.  pardonnez-mois]  Johns.  Pardonnez-moi  became  the  language  of  doubt  or 
hesitation  among  men  of  the  sword,  when  the  point  of  honour  was  grown  so  delicate 
that  no  other  mode  of  contradiction  would  be  endured.     [  Verp.  Hal.  Clarke. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  Camb.  Edd.  [Globe  Shakespeare)  print  'these  perdona-mi's' 
(but  surely  Mercutio  is  here  speaking  of  affected  Frenchified  gallants),  and  retain 
'O,  their  bones,  their  bones!'  in  preference  to  Theobald's  emendation.  (Against 
that  emendation,  by  the  by,  Capell  protests,  and  says :  * "  bones"  as  several  have 
observ'd,  is  "  an  allusion  to  that  stage  of  the  French  disease  when  it  gets  into  the 
bones."  The  thought  has  its  introduction  from  the  metaphorical  expression  just 
preceding,  of — sitting  at  their  ease. ^ — Notes,  &c.,  vol.  ii,  P.  iv,  p.  10, ) 

31.  on  the  old  bench]  Farmer,  This  conceit  is  lost,  if  the  double  meaning 
of  the  word  form  be  not  attended  to.     \_Hal. 

Steev.  a  quibble  on  the  two  meanings  of  the  word  form  occurs  in  Love's  Lab.  L,, 
L  i,  209.     \_Hal. 

Blakeway.  I  have  read  that  during  the  reign  of  large  breeches  (see  Stryp« , 
Annals,  vol.  i ;  Appendix,  p.  78  and  vol.  ii ;  Appendix,  No.  1 7  ;  also  a  note  of  Steevens 
on  Meas.  for  Meas.,  H,  i)  it  was  necessary  to  cut  away  hollow  places  in  the  benches 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  to  make  oom  for  those  monstrous  protuberances,  without 
which  contrivance  they  who  stood  on  the  new  form  could  not  sit  at  ease  in  the  old 
bench.     \_Sing.  Corn.  Verp.  Huds.  Hal. 

32.  bons,  their  bons]  Theob.  Mercutio  is  here  ridiculing  Frenchified,  fan- 
tastical coxcombs ;  and  tlierefore  I  suspect  here  he  meant  to  write  French  too :  '  O, 
their  ban's!  their  ban's  f — i.  e.,  how  ridiculous  they  make  themselves  in  crying  out 
good,  and  being  in  ecstasies  with  every  trifle,  as  he  had  just  described  them  before. 
^Clarke. 

Mal.  Theobald's  emendation  is  confirmed  by  a  passage  in  Greene's  Tu  Quoque, 
from  which  we  learn  that  bon  jour  was  the  common  salutation  of  those  who  affected 
to  appea  fine  gentlemen  in  Sh.'s  time :  '  No,  I  want  the  bon  jour  and  the  tu  quoque, 
which  yonder  gentleman  has.'     \_Hal. 


124  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv 

Enter  RoMEO. 

Ben.     Here  comes  Romeo,  here  comes  Romeo.  33 

Mer.  Without  his  roe,  like  a  dried  herring.  O  flesh,  flesh, 
how  art  thou  fishified !  Now  is  he  for  the  numbers  that  Petrarch 
flowed  in ;  Laura  to  his  lady  was  but  a  kitchen-wench ;  marry, 
she  had  a  better  love  to  be-rhyme  her ;  Dido,  a  dowdy ;  Cleopa- 
tra, a  gipsy;  Helen  and  Hero,  hildings  and  harlots;  Thisbe,  a 
grey  eye  or  so,  but  not  to  the  purpose. — Signior  Romeo,  bon 

Enter  Romeo.]  QqFf.    After  purpose,  Capell,  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sta.  White,  Hal 

line  39,  Dyce,  Clarke,  Cham.  36.     marry. ..her'\  [marry. ..her)  Ulr. 

33.  Here  comes  Romeo'\  Once  only  in  39.  so,  but  not"]  so :  but  now  Ha» 
(Q,)  Pope,  Han.  Warb. 

36.     was  but"]  (QJ  Pope,   was  QqFf, 

34,  his  roe]  Seymour.  That  is,  he  comes  but  the  half  of  himself;  he  is  only  a 
sigh — 0  me!  i.  e.,  me  O I  the  half  of  his  name.     \^Har. 

36.  marry,  she  had  a  better  love  to  be-rhyme  her]  Ulr.  I  have  enclosed 
these  words  in  brackets  because  they  obviously  insert  parenthetically  a  word  of  praise 
of  Petrarch,  and  perhaps  a  thrust  at  Romeo,  who  probably  had  likewise  be-sung  his 
Rosaline. 

Gerald  Massey  {^Sh.  Sonnets^  &c.,  p.  473).  Supposing  my  theory  to  be  correct, 
the  perfection  of  the  banter  here, — as  between  Sh.  and  Southampton, — would  lie  in 
an  allusion  unperceived  by  the  audience,  but  well  known  to  poet  and  patron  as  re- 
lating to  the  Sonnets  which  were  then  being  written.  This  would  be  no  more  than 
his  making  public  allusion  to  the  Sonnets,  as  work  in  hand,  when  he  dedicated  the 
poem  of  '  Lucrece.'  Besides,  Sh.  may  be  the  original  of  Mercutio  (see  Ben  Jonson's 
description  of  his  liveliness) ;  he  may  even  be  playing  the  part  on  the  stage  to  Bur- 
bage's  Romeo,  and  the  joke  at  his  own  and  his  friend's  expense  would  be  greatly 
iieightened  by  an  arch  look  at  Southampton  sitting  on  the  stage  in  '  the  Lord's 
places,  on  the  very  rushes  where  the  comedy  is  to  dance.'  Many  things  would  be 
conveyed  to  the  initiated  friends  by  the  Poet's  humour  thus  slyly  playing  bo-peep 
from  behind  the  dramatic  mask. 

39.  grey  eye]  Mal.  He  means  to  allow  that  Thisbe  had  a  very  fine  eye,  for  it 
appears  that  a  grey  eye  was  in  Sh.'s  time  thought  eminently  beautiful.  This  may 
seem  strange  to  those  who  are  not  conversant  with  ancient  phraseology;  but  a  g^ey 
eye  undoubtedly  meant  what  we  now  denominate  a  bltie  eye.  [Cor«.]  Thus  in 
Venus  and  Adonis :  '  Her  two  blue  windows  faintly  she  upheaveth,'  :.  e.,  the  win- 
dows or  lids  of  her  blue  eyes.  In  the  very  same  poem  the  eyes  of  Venus  are  termed 
C-°y:  'Mine  eyes  are  grey  and  bright,  and  quick  in  turning.'  [Subs.  Sing.  Knt. 
Verp.  Huds. 

Steev.  If  grey  eyes  signified  blue  eyes,  how  happened  it  that  Sh.,  in  The  Tem- 
pest, I,  i,  should  have  styled  Sycorax  a  ^/«^-eyed  hag  instead  of  a^^_)'-eyed  one? 

Ulr.  Malone  is  contradicted,  first  by  two  of  the  passages  which  he  himself  haj 
adduced,  and  in  which  beautiful  eyes  are  described  as  '  gray  as  glass,'  i.  e.,  as  green- 
ish gray,  and  in  the  next  place  by  the  words  of  the  Nurse,  III,  v,  221,  where  she 
extols  the  green  eyes  of  Count  Paris  as  especially  beautiful.     Blue  eyes,  properly  so 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 25 

jour!  there's  a  French  salutation  to  your  French  slop.  You 
gave  us  the  counterfeit  fairly  last  night.  41 

Rom,  Good  morrow  to  you  both.  What  counterfeit  did  I 
give  you  ? 

Mer.     The  slip,  sir,  the  slip ;  can  you  not  conceive  ? 

Rom.  Pardon,  good  Mercutio,  my  business  was  great ;  and  in 
such  a  case  as  mine  a  man  may  strain  courtesy.  46 

Mcr.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  such  a  case  as  yours  con- 
strains a  man  to  bow  in  the  hams. 

Rovt.     Meaning,  to  court'sy. 

Mer.     Thou  hast  most  kindly  hit  it.  50 

40,     slop'\  stop  Pope.  46.     courtesy\  coursie  F^F  . 

45.    good'\  Qq.  om.  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  49.     court^sy\  courtesie  F,F  F  .    cur- 

Han.  sie  QqF,. 

called,  appear  even  to  have  been  accounted  ugly,  since  Sh.  speaks  of  Sycorax  as  a 
'  blue-eyed  hag.'  Mercutio  means  to  say  that  in  Romeo's  opinion  Thisbe  to  his  lady 
was  indeed  'grey-eyed'  (pretty-eyed),  or  soniething  of  that  sort,  but  on  the  whole 
'  insignificant.'  Not  to  the  purpose  is,  does  not  belong  to  the  subject,  does  not  mat- 
ter, therefore  trifling. 

Del.   a  bright  blue  eye. 

Dyce.    Blue,  azure. 

40.  French  slop]  Steev.  Slops  are  large,  loose  breeches  or  trowsers.  \_Sing. 
Coll.  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce. 

Cham.    Something  like  the  Knickerbockers  of  the  present  day. 

White.   We  still  have  '  slop-shops.* 

42.  Good  morrow]  Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  ii,  p.  155,  ed.  1836).  Compare 
again  Romeo's  half  exerted  and  half  real  ease  of  mind  with  his  first  manner  when 
in  love  with  Rosaline.     His  will  had  come  to  the  clenching  point.     \_Knt. 

44.  slip]  Reed.  '  And  therefore  he  went  and  got  him  certain  slips  which  are 
counterfeit  pieces  of  money,  being  brasse,  and  covered  over  with  silver,  which  the 
common  people  call  slips. ^ — Thieves  falling  out.  True  Men  come  by  their  Goods,  by 
Robert  Greene.  Again  :  '  I  had  like  t'  have  been  Abus'd  i'  the  business,  had  the 
slip  slur'd  on  me,  A  counterfeit.^ — Magnetick  Lady,  IH,  vi.  \_Sing.  Nares,  Knt. 
Corn.  Coll.  Huds.  Sta.  White. 

Nares.   Probably  so  named  from  its  being  smooth  and  slippery. 

Halliwell.  Nash,  in  his  Life  of  Jacke  Wilton,  1594,  has  the  following  passage : 
•  Aie  me,  shee  was  but  a  counterfeit  slip,  for  she  not  only  gave  me  the  slip,'  &c.  •  Is 
he  not  fond  then  which  a  slip  receaves  For  currant  money?' — Skialetheia  or  a 
Shadowe  of  Truth,  1598. 

48.  to  bow  in  the  hams]  Ulr.  Ham  is  the  kneepan,  which  in  polite  obeisance 
(as  in  kneeling)  was  bent  outwardly.  '  To  bow  in  the  hams,'  /.  e.,  to  bend  the  knee 
inwardly,  is  expressive  of  the  opposite,  namely,  of  impoliteness.  But  Ham  signifies 
also  the  thigh,  and  what  Mercutio's  indecent  tongue  means  '  by  bending  in  the  ham' 
cannot  be  doubtful. 

5".  kindly]  Sta.  That  is,  most  pertinently  hit  it.  So  in  i  Hen.  VI :  III,  i, 
11  * 


126  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  |  act.  ii.  sc.  i? 

Rom.     A  most  courteous  exposition. 

Mcr.     Nay,  I  am  the  very  pink  of  courtesy. 

Rom.     Pink  for  flower. 

Mcr.     Right. 

Rom.     Why,  then  is  my  pump  well  flowered.  55 

Mcr.  Well  said  ;  follow  me  this  jest  now,  till  thou  hast  worn 
out  thy  pump,  that,  when  the  single  sole  of  it  is  worn,  the  jest 
may  remain,  after  the  wearing,  solely  singular. 

Rom.     O  single-soled  jest,  solely  singular  for  the  singleness ' 

51.     courteous"]  curtuous  Q^^.  Ulr.     Sure  wit :  Del.  Sta.  WTiite. 

56.      ^F^// ^(7/^/.-]   Capell,  from  (Q,).  5S.     W^/)']  Warb.    W7  Qq.    w/^- Ft, 

Sure  wit  Q^.    Sure  wit,  The  rest.    Sure  Rowe,  Capell.   W^/v- Pope,  &c.  (Johns.) 

wit —  Rowe,  &c.    Sir  wit,  Anon,  conj.*  Sta.    so/e  Dyce  (ed.  i),  Cham. 

Sheer  wit  I  Mai.  conj.     Sure  wit.  Knt.  59.     Two  lines  in  Ff. 

when  Warwick  says,  'Sweet  King!  the  bishop  hath  a  kindly  gird ^  he  does  noi 
mean,  as  it  has  been  interpreted,  '  a  reproof  meant  in  kindness,'  but  an  apposif- 
reproof,  a  reproof  in  kind.  This  sense  of  the  word  is  very  clearly  shown  in  a  pass 
age  in  Middleton's  play,  '  The  Mayor  of  Queenborough,'  III,  iii,  where  Vortigem, 
having  discovered  the  trick  of  Hengist  in  cutting  the  hide  into  thongs,  tells  him  his 
castle  shall  be  called  Thong  Castle ;  to  which  the  latter  replies :  '  there  your  grace 
quites  me  kindly.^ 

White.  That  is,  in  kind ;  your  reply  was  of  a  piece  with  my  speech. 

55.  pump  well  flowered]  Johns.  Here  is  a  vein  of  wit  too  thin  to  be  easily 
found.  The  fundamental  idea  is,  that  Romeo  wore  pinked  pumps, — that  is,  punched 
in  holes  with  figures.     [^/«^.  Corn.  JIuds.  Dyce,  Hal. 

Steev.  See  the  shoes  of  the  morris-dancers  in  the  plate  [from  Toilet's  painted 
window,  where  the  figures  marked  4  and  10  have  pinked  shoes]  at  the  conclusion 
of  I  Hen.  IV,  [Var.,  vol.  xvi.]  S^Dyce."]  It  was  the  custom  to  wear  ribbons  in 
the  shoes,  formed  into  the  shape  of  roses  or  of  any  other  flowers.  [At*/.]  So  in 
The  Masque  of  Flowers,  acted  by  the  Gentlemen  of  Gray's-Inn,  1614:  'Every 
masker's  pump  was  fasten'd  with  z.  flower  %yx\\.zb\^  to  his  cap.'  \_Sing.  Com.  Verp. 
Huds.  Hal.  Clarke. 

Ulr.  Neither  flowers,  nor  ribbons  in  the  shape  of  flowers,  were  worn  on  '  pumps' 
(that  is,  dancing-shoes,  or  shoes  in  general),  as  the  English  commentators  assert, — 
the  passage  adduced  in  proof  of  it  by  Steevens  does  not  show  what  it  purports  to 
do, — but  Romeo  continues  to  pun  on  the  word  pink,  a  point  Sjpitze],  a  flower,  and 
says,  in  eff'ect :  U  pink  is  for  flower,  then  my  shoes — which  were  then  worn  very 
pointed  [zugespitzf] — '  are  well  flowered.' 

Sta.  The  idea  seems  to  be, — my  shoe  or  pump,  being  pinked  or  punched  witti 
boles,  is  well  flmvered.  There  may  be  also  a  latent  allusion  to  the  custom  referred 
to  by  Steevens. 

Clarke.  These  ornaments  are  still  used  for  women's  shoes,  and  called  'rosettes.' 

59.  single-soled]  Mal.  It  formerly  signified  mean  or  contemptible ;  and  that  is 
cne  of  the  senses  in  which  it  is  used  here.  In  Holinshed's  Ireland,  p.  23 :  '  which 
was  not  unlikely,  considering  that  a  meane  tower  might  serve  such  single-soale  kings 
»s  were  at  tho'e  dales  in  Ireland.' 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO  AND   JULIET  1 27 

Mcr.     Come  between  us,  good  Benvolio ;  my  wito  fail.  60 

Rom.     Switch   and   spurs,  switch  and   spurs;    or  I'll   cry  a 

match. 

Mir.     Nay,  if  thy  wits  run  the  wild-goose  chase,  I  have  done ; 

for  thou  hast  more  of  the  wild-goose  in  one  of  thy  wits  than,  I 

60.  wits   fail'\    (Q,)    Steev.      wits  or  Til ^  of— /'// Johns,    for  I 
faints  q^Q^Q/^,\J\T.   wit  faints  Row q,         Capell. 

&c.  Capell,  Del.  Sta.     wits  faint   q_^,  63.     /y^y  k/jVj]  (QJ  Capell.     ourwiit 

Dyce  (ed.  l),  Cambr.  Knt.  (ed.  2).  QqFf,  Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Sta 

61,  62.     Two  lines  in  Ff.  White,  Hal. 

61.     Switi:A...switc/i]  Pope.     Swits...  I  have\    (QJ    Capell.      /   am 

svnts  QqFf,  Rowe.      Switches. ..switches         QqFf,  Rowe,  &c. 

Anon,  conj.*  63,  64.     wild-goose']  wild  goats  Grey 

conj. 


Steev.  That  is,  slight,  unsolid,  feeble.  It  occurs  likewise  in  Hall's  Satires,  b.  ii : 
'  that  doth  excite  Each  single-sold  squire  to  set  you  at  so  light.'  \_Sing.']  In  Decker's 
Wonderful  Yeare,  1 603,  we  meet  with  '  a  single-sole  fidler.*  In  A  Short  Relation  of 
a  Long  Journey,  &c.,  by  Taylor,  the  Water-Poet:  'There  was  also  a  single-soal'd 
gentlewoman,  of  the  last  edition,'  &c. 

Sing.  Malone  and  Steevens  have  made  strange  work  with  their  conjectures  on  the 
meaning  of  single-soled.  I  have  shown  (vol.  v,  p.  270,  note  20)  that  single  meant 
simple,  silly.  Single-soled  had  also  the  same  meaning  :  <  He  is  a  good  sengyll  soule, 
and  can  do  no  harm;  est  doli  nescius  non  simplex.' — Norman's  Vulgaria.  The 
*  single  soule  kings,'  the  ^single  sole  fidler,'  and  the  'single  soaPd  gentlewoman,'  were 
all  simple  persons.  It  sometimes  was  synonymous  with  threadbare,  coarse  spun, 
and  this  is  its  meaning  here.  The  worthy  Cotgrave  explains,  '  Monsieur  de  trois  au 
boisseau  et  de  trois  k  un  6p6e  :  a  threadbare,  coarse-spun,  single-soled  gentleman.' 
{^Huds.  White,  Dyce,  Hal. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  That  is,  a  contemptible,  foolish  jest.  The  word  often  occurs  in 
authors  of  the  time  in  this  sense ;  and  Steevens  quotes  the  following  couplet  in  point 
from  Bishop  Hall's  '  Satires,'  B.  ii,  sat.  2  [as  above].  If  Steevens  be  accurate  (and 
Singer  quotes  the  very  same  words),  the  reprint  of  Hall's  '  Satires'  in  1824  is  wrong, 
for  there  '  excite'  is  printed  incite  :  the  meaning  is  nearly  the  same,  and  we  are  only 
anxious  to  be  accurate,  not  having  at  hand  any  original  copy  of  Hall's  '  Satires.' 

60.  my  wits  fail]  Ulr.  Almost  all  the  English  edd.  unaccountably  prefer 
«_/ai7,'  although  Romeo's  reply  is  to  the  point  only  when  it  is  preceded  by  a  word 
like  faint,  which  is  used  of  horses  becoming  tired. 

63.  wild-goose  chass]  Holt  White.  One  kind  of  horse-race,  which  resem- 
bled the  flight  of  wild-geese,  was  formerly  known  by  this  name.  Two  horses  were 
started  together,  and  whichever  rider  could  get  the  lead,  the  other  was  obliged  to 
follow  him  over  whatever  ground  the  foremost  jockey  chose  to  go.  [iVWj.]  That 
horse  which  could  distance  the  other  won  the  race.  See  Chambers's  Diet.,  article 
Chase.  This  barbarous  sport  is  enumerated  by  Burton,  in  his  Anatomy  of  Melan- 
choly, as  a  recreation  much  in  vogue  in  his  time  among  gentlemen  :  '  Riding  of  great 
horses,  running  at  ring,  tilts  and  turnaments,  horse-races,  wild-goose  chases,  are  the  dis- 
ports of  great  men.' — P.  266,  ed.  1632,  fol.     \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  White,  Dyce,  Hal. 

Knt.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  describe  a  sport,  if  sport  it  can  be  called,  which 


128  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv. 

am  sure,  I  have  in  my  whole  five.  Was  I  with  you  there  for  the 
goose  ? 

Rom.  Thou  wast  never  with  me  for  any  thing  when  thou 
wast  not  there  for  the  goose. 

Mcr.     I  will  bite  thee  by  the  ear  for  that  jest. 

Rovi.     Nay,  good  goose,  bite  not.  70 

Alcr.  Thy  wit  is  a  very  bitter  sweeting;  it  is  a  most  sharp 
sauce. 

Rod:      And  is  it  not  well  ser\'ed  in  to  a  sweet  goose  ? 

Mer.  O,  here's  a  wit  of  cheveril,  that  stretches  from  an  inch 
narrow  to  an  ell  broad !  75 

Rom.  I  stretch  it  out  for  that  word,  '  broad ;'  which  added  to 
the  goose,  proves  thee  far  and  wide  a  broad  goose. 

71,72.     Two  lines  in  Ff.  77.     thee\  the  Y ^ ^ ^. 

"Jl.     bitter  sweeting]  Qi:\.   bitter-sweet-  a  broad]  abroad  Yi.  broad  "Rowe 

f«^  Ff,  Sta.  (ed.  2).*  fl^r^ai/.  Fanner  conj.  abroad — 

73.  well]  then  well  Q,.  Coll.  Del. 
in  to]  into  F^F^F^. 

is  still  used  amongst  us.  WTien  the  'wits  run  the  wild-goose  chase,'  we  have  a  type 
of  its  folly,  as  the  •  switch  and  spurs,  switch  and  spurs,'  is  descriptive  of  its  brutality. 

69.  bite  thee]  Dyce.  •  This  odd  mode  of  expressing  pleasure,  which  seems  to 
be  taken  from  the  practice  of  animals  who,  in  a  playful  mood,  bite  each  other's  ears, 
&c.,  is  very  common  in  our  old  dramatists.' — Gifford's  note  on  Jonson^s  Works, 
vol.  ii,  p.  184. 

70.  bite  not]  Steev.  A  proverbial  expression  to  be  found  in  Ray.  \Sing.  Knt. 
Coll.  Dyce. — Ray's  Proverbs,  p.  56,  ed.  1768. 

71.  bitter  sweeting]  Steev.  An  apple  of  that  name.  \_Sing.  Knt.  Coll.]  In 
Summer's  Last  IVill  and  Testament,  1600:  'as  well  crabs  as  sweetings  for  his 
summer  fruits.'  In  Fair  Em,  1631 :  '  And  left  me  such  a  bitter  sweet  to  gnaw  upon?' 
In  Gower,  De  Confessione  Amantis,  lib.  viii,  fol.  174,  b. : 

'  For  all  such  tyme  of  love  is  lore. 
And  like  unto  the  bitter  swete  ; 
For  though  it  thinke  a  man  fyrst  swete. 
He  shall  well  felen  at  laste 
That  it  is  sower,'  &c     [/fal. 

White.  The  passage  illustrates  the  antiquity  of  that  dish  so  much  esteemed  by 

all  boys  and  many  men — goose  and  apple-sauce. 

Dyce.  'A  Bitter-sweet  [Apple],  Amarimellum.' — Coles's  Lat.  and  Eng.  Diet. 

74.  cheveril]  Johnson.   Soft  leather  for  gloves.     \^Sing.  Coll.  Huds. 

Steev.  So  in  The  Owle,  by  Drayton  [' p.  409,  ed.  1619.' — Sing.]:  'He  had  a 
tongue  for  every  language  fit,  A  cheverell  conscience  and  a  searching  wit.'     \^Hal. 

MusGRAVE.    From  chevreuil,  roebuck.     [A'w/.  Hal. 

Sing.  [Note  on  Hen.  VIH :  II,  iii].  This  is  often  alluded  to,  in  comparisons,  foi 
gtfiything  pliant  ox  flexible. 

77.  a  broad]  Dyce  {'Remarks!  &c-  P-  170).  The  Qq  are  right.  Collier's  read- 
ing, instead  of  '  adding  broad  to  the  goose,'  entirely  separates  the  words. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  1 29 

Mer.  Why,  is  not  this  better  now  than  groaning  for  love? 
now  art  thou  sociable,  now  art  thou  Romeo  ;  now  art  thou  what 
thou  art,  by  art  as  well  as  by  nature ;  for  this  drivelling  love  is 
like  a  great  natural,  that  runs  lolling  up  and  down  to  hide  his 
bauble  in  a  hole.  '  82 

Ben.     Stop  there,  stop  there. 

M,.r.     Thou  desirest  me  to  stop  in  my  tale  against  the  hair. 

Ben.     Thou  wouldst  else  have  made  thy  tale  large.  85 

Mer.  O,  thou  art  deceived ;  I  would  have  made  it  short ;  for 
I  was  come  to  the  whole  depth  of  my  tale,  and  meant  indeed  to 
occupy  the  argument  no  longer. 

Rom.     Here's  goodly  gear ! 

79.     art  thou  sociable']  thou  art  soda-  84.     the  hair"]  th^  'air  Ed.  conj. 

d/e  Rowe  (ed.  2),*  &c.  86.     /or]  or  FT^Fj. 

82.     bauble]  F^.    bable  The  rest. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Dyce  does  not  explain  what  he  means  by  'a  broad  goose;'  and 
we  never  heard  of  one,  even  among  tailors.  \\'hat  Romeo  plainly  means  is  that 
Mercutio  has  proved  himself,  '  far  and  wide  abroad,'  a  goose ;  and  we  thus  add 
'  broad'  to  •  goose'  in  the  way  intended,  and  preserve  whatever  force  there  may  be  in 
the  retort. 

Sta.  The  quibble  here  has  not  been  understood.  Romeo  plays  on  the  words  a 
broad  and  a  brode.  The  Tumament  of  Tottenham,  Harl.  MSS.,  No.  5396 :  '  Forther 
would  not  Tyb  then,  Tyl  scho  had  hur  brode-hen  Set  in  hur  lap.'     \_Clarke. 

78.  better]  Knt,  Romeo  had  not  only  recovered  the  natural  tone  of  his  mind, 
but  he  had  come  back  to  the  conventional  gayety, — the  fives-play  of  witty  words,— 
which  was  the  tone  of  the  best  society  in  Sh.'s  time. 

78.  groaning  for  love]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  In  Love's  Lab.  L.,  IV,  iii,  182,  Biron 
asks  when  he  had  '  groaned  for  love,'  not  •  groaned  for  Joan,'  or  lone,  as  it  has 
been  hitherto  misprinted. 

82.  bauble]  Douce.  The  epithet  driveling  is  applied  to  love  as  a  slavering 
idiot ;  but  Sir  Philip  Sidney  has  made  Cupid  an  old  drivell.  See  the  lines  quoted 
from  the  Arcadia  by  Dr.  Farmer,  Much  Ado,  III,  ii.  [On  p.  508,  DoucE  says]  : 
The  licensed  Fool's  or  Jester's  official  sceptre  or  bauble  was  a  short  stick  orna- 
mented at  the  end  with  the  figure  of  a  fool's  head,  or  sometimes  that  of  a  doll  or 
puppet.  \^Dyce.]  To  this  instrument  there  was  frequently  annexed  an  inflated 
skin  or  bladder,  with  which  the  fool  belaboured  those  who  offended  him,  or  with 
whom  he  was  inclined  to  make  sport.  The  French  call  a  bauble  Marotte  from 
Marionette.     \_Sing. 

84.  against  the  hair]  Steev.  A  contrepoil.  Equivalent  to  the  expression  which 
we  now  use — '  against  the  grain.'     \_Sing.  Huds. 

Nares.  Against  the  grain,  or  contrary  to  the  nature  of  anything.  See  Rays 
*Proverbsy  p.  194.  See  Merry  Wives,  II,  iii,  41.  Also  Tro.  and  Cress.,  I,  ii,  27, 
\^Sing.  Huds. 

Dyce.    'Invitd  Minerva,  aversante  naturd.' — Coles's  Lat.  and  Eng.  Diet. 

I 


I30  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  jv, 


Enter  Nurse  and  I'eter. 

Mer.     A  sail,  a  sail !  90 

Be7i.     Two,  two  !  a  shirt  and  a  smock. 
Nurse.     Peter ! 
Peter.     Anon  ? 
Nurse.     My  fan,  Peter. 

89.  Enter...]  Enter  Nurse  and  her  91.  Ben.]  (Q,)  Capell.  Mer.  QqFfi 
toan.  (after  longer,  line  SS)  QqFf,  Ulr.         Rowe,  &c.  Ulr.  White. 

Cham.    Ah^T  smock,  line  91  White.  92.     Peter !'\  Peter,  pr'ythee  give  mt 

90.  Mer.  A  sail,  a  sail/]  Mer.  A  my  fan  (QJ  Coll.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Huds. 
sail,  a  sail,  a  sail !   (Q,)  Capell,  Var.         Hal.  Ktly. 

Knt.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cham.  Clarke.    A  sayle,  93,94.     om.    Coll.    Sing.     (ed.    2), 

a  sayle.   (continued   to  Romeo)   QqFf,         Huds.  Hal.  Ktly. 
Rowe,  &c.  Ulr.  WTiite. 

91.  Enter  Nurse  .  .  .  ,  smock]  Ulrici.  I  cannot  see  why  Romeo  should  not 
add  'A  sail,  a  sail!'  by  way  of  explaining  his  exclamation,  '  Here's  goodly  gear!' 
At  all  events,  the  words  that  follow,  •  Two,  two,'  &c.,  are  far  more  appropriate  from 
Mercutio  than  from  Benvolio. 

White.  Especially  does  the  surreptitious  4to  [(Q,)]  appear  to  err  (yet  since 
Malone's  time — 1790 — it  has  hitherto  been  universally  followed)  in  assigning  that 
most  Mercutian  exclamation,  '  Two,  two ;  a  shirt  and  a  smock !'  to  the  taciturn,  cor- 
rect, and  commonplace  Benvolio.  It  should  be  observed,  too,  that  in  this  Scene, 
both  before  and  after  the  entrance  of  the  Nurse,  Romeo  is  in  a  very  lively  mood,  and 
rivals  Mercutio  in  the  brisk  encounter  of  empty  words ;  but  Benvolio  is  not  moved 
from  his  usual  quiet  and  decorum. 

DvcE  (ed.  2).  Mr.  Grant  White  objects  to  the  words  'Two,  two;  a  shirt  and  a 
smock'  being  assigned  to  the  taciturn,  correct,  and  commonplace  Benvolio,  yet  in  his 
note  on  the  speech  which  presently  follows,  '  she  will  indite  him  to  some  supper,'  he 
observes  that  •  Benvolio  can  be  slyly  ironical.' 

94.  My  fan]  Farmer.  The  business  of  Peter  carrying  the  Nurse's  fan  ..eems 
ridiculous  according  to  modern  manners;  but  I  find  such  was  formerly  the  practice. 
In  an  old  pamphlet  called  The  Serving  Man^s  Comfort,  1598,  we  are  informed,  'The 
mistress  must  have  one  to  carry  her  cloake  and  hood,  another  her  fanne.'  \_Sing. 
Huds.  Hal.  Clarke. 

Steev.    Again  in  Love's  Lab.  L.,  IV,  i,  147.     \^Sing.  I/uds.  Clarke. 

Knt.  [gives  at  the  end  of  the  Act  a  picture  of  the  kind  of  fan  which  Peter  had  to 
bear,  and  says]  :  It  does  not  appear,  therefore,  quite  so  ridiculous,  when  we  look 
at  the  size  of  the  machine,  to  believe  that  the  Nurse  should  have  a  servant  to 
bear  it. 

Dr.  F.  T.  Vischer  {'Aesthetik,'  &c.,  1857,  vol.  iii,  p.  1201).  WTien  the  Nurse 
enters  in  all  her  finery,  and  begins,  '  Peter,  my  fan,'  it  must  be  a  very  stupid  reader 
who  does  not  have  instantly  before  him,  in  all  essential  features,  the  picture  of  the 
silly  old  creature,  faithful  but  vulgar,  talkative  but  secretive,  as  full  of  vanity  as  of 
wrinkles,  tricked  out  in  her  ribbons,  as,  with  bridling  gait  and  nose  upturned,  she 
affects  the  fine  lady. 


ACT  j:,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  131 

Mcr.  Good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face ;  for  her  fan's  the  fairer  of 
the  two.  q6 

Nurse.     God  ye  good  morrow,  gentlemen. 

Mer.     God  ye  good  den,  fair  gentlewoman. 

Nurse.     Is  it  good  den  ? 

Mer.  'Tis  no  less,  I  tell  you  ;  for  the  bawdy  hand  of  the  dial 
is  now  upon  the  prick  of  noon. 

Nurse.     Out  upon  you  !  what  a  man  are  you  !  10:* 

95.     Goodi  Do  good  Pope,  &c.  Ca-  fairer  of  the  two"]    (Q,)  Pope, 

pell.     Pr'ythee,  do,  good  Var.  (Corn.)  fairer  face  QqFf,    Rowe,   Knt.   Com. 

Coll.  Sing.  Huds.  Hal.  Ktly.  from  (QJ.  Del.  Dyce,  Sta.  WTiite,  Clarke. 

Good... face."]  Separate  line,  Ff.  98.    gentlewoman]  gentlewomen  F^F,. 

95,  96.     One  line  in  Qq.  99.     Is  it]  It  is  F,. 


96.  fairer  of  the  two]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  Some  modem  edd.  have  here  adopted 
the  reading  of  no  old  copy,  but  have  compounded  a  text  out  of  several. 

Huds.  Divers  modern  eds.  have  compounded  a  third  reading  out  of  the  two 
[in  (QJ  and  Q^^],  which  is  hardly  allowable  anywhere,  and  something  worse  than 
useless  here,  even  if  it  were  allowable. 

98.  God  ye  good  den]  Steev.  That  is,  God  give  you  a  good  even.  The  first 
of  these  contractions  is  common  among  the  ancient  comic  writers.  So  in  R.  Brome's 
Northern  Lass,  1633  :   God  you  good  even,  sir.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

Nares.  This  salutation  was  used  by  our  ancestors  as  soon  as  noon  was  past,  after 
which  time  good  morrow,  or  good  day,  was  esteemed  improper.     \_Dyce. 

99.  good  den  ?]  Knt.  Sh.  had  here  English  manners  in  his  eye.  The  Italian 
custom  of  commencing  the  day  half  an  hour  after  sunset,  and  reckoning  through  the 
twenty-four  hours,  is  inconsistent  with  such  a  division  of  time  as  this. 

Nares.   Good  den  is  a  mere  corruption  of  good  e'en  for  good  evening. 

Ulr.  Den  is  probably  derived  from  day-even  ;  the  two  words  were  made  into 
one,  because,  according  to  the  way  of  reckoning  time  in  those  days,  even  began  im- 
mediately after  noon. 

Id.  prick  of  noon]  Amner  [the  pseudonym  of  Steevens].  This  hath  already 
occurred  in  3  Hen.  VI :  I,  iv :  '  And  made  an  evening  at  the  noon-tide  prick.' 
Prick  meaneth  point — i.  e.,  punctum,  a  note  of  distinction  in  writing,  a  stop.  So  in 
Timothy  Bright's  Characterie,  or  an  Arte  of  Shorte,  dr'c,  Writing  by  Character:, 
1588 :  '  If  the  worde,  by  reason  of  tence,  ende  in  ed,  as  I  loved,  then  make  a  prick 
in  the  character  of  the  word,  on  the  left  side.'     \_Sing.  Huds. 

DvCE.  That  is,  the  point  of  noon,  with  a  quibble. 

102.  Out  .  ,  .  you]  Ulr.  The  indignant  reply  of  the  Nurse  shows  that  Mercutio 
must  have  meant  something  more  than  that  it  would  soon  be  noon.  '  Noon'  some- 
times also  signifies  the  middle  of  the  night — e.g.,  '  the  night  advancing  to  her  noon,' 
or  (in  Diyden)  '  at  the  noon  of  night  he  saw,'  &c.  Mercutio  means  therefore  to  say 
that  the  looks  of  the  Nurse  point  to  the  late  evening  (of  her  life),  indeed  even  to  tlie 
midnight  (perhaps  also  with  an  obscene  allusion),  and  he  probably  indicated  this 
allusion  by  a  gesture  of  his  hand  towards  her  bosom,  on  which  account  Schlegd 
^rery  well  translates :  '  Your  stomacher  points  to  sundown.' 


132  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv. 

RofK.  One,  gentlewoman,  that  God  hath  mide  himself  to 
mar. 

Nurse.  By  my  troth,  it  is  well  said :  '  for  himself  to  mar,* 
quoth  'a  ? — Gentlemen,  can  any  of  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find 
the  young  Romeo  ? 

Roju.  I  can  tell  you  ;  but  young  Romeo  will  be  older  when 
you  have  found  him  than  he  was  when  you  sought  him.  I  am 
the  youngest  of  that  name,  for  fault  of  a  worse.  i  lO 

Nurse.     You  say  well. 

Mer.  Yea,  is  the  worst  well  ?  very  well  took,  i'  faith ;  wisely, 
wisely. 

Nurse.     If  you  be  he,  sir,  I  desire  some  confidence  with  you. 

Ben.     She  will  indite  him  to  some  supper.  115 

Mer.     A  bawd,  a  bawd,  a  bawd  !     So  ho ! 

Rovi.     What  hast  thou  found  ? 

103.     himself  "^  for  himself  {d^)  Coll.  107.     the']  om.  (Q,)  Pope,  Han. 

Ulr.   Huds.    Sta.  WTiite,   Hal.   Clarke,  I12-114.     Yea...you]  Q({.  Verse,  four 

Dyce  (ed.  2),  Ktly.  lines  ending  well. ..wisely. ..sir,.. .you  Ff, 

105.  well  said]   said   F^F^F^.     sad  Rowe,  &c. 

F^,  Rowe.  114.     If  you]  If  thou  Clfl^. 

106.  quoth  'a]  quath  a  Q  Q^F^.  115.  indite]  endite  QqF^.  inviit 
ijuotha  FjF^F^,  Rowe,  &c.                                (Qi)F3F4,  Rowe,  Pope,  Ulr.     enviie  F, 

Centlemeti]  Gentleman  F^F^F  .  som/\  om.  (Q,)  Capell. 

103.  made  himself]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  'For'  of  (QJ  is  left  out  in  subsequent 
copies ;  but  the  repetition  of  the  words  by  the  Nurse,  'for  himself  to  mar,'  shows 
that  it  had  been  improperly  omitted.     \_Huds. 

White.  '  For'  is  omitted  plainly  by  mere  accident. 

114.  confidence]  S.Walker.  The  Nurse,  I  imagine,  means  to  say  ft)«/<rr<r«^tf. 
So  Mistress  Quickly,  Merry  Wives,  I,  near  the  end :  '  and  I  will  tell  your  worship 
more  of  the  wart  the  next  time  we  have  confidence.'  And  Dogberry,  Much  Ado, 
HI,  V,  init. :  '  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confidence  with  you  that  decerns  you 
nearly.'     Vice  versd,  in  Shirley,  Love  Tricks,  v,  near  the  end,  Jenkin,  the  Welshman, 

;ays :  * well,  Jenkin  were  even  best  make  shumeys  back  into  her  own  coun- 

•reys,  and  never  put  credits  or  conferences  in  any  womans  in  the  whole  urld.' 

115.  indite]  Ulr.  Indite,  so  very  inappropriate  as  it  is,  I  consider  a  mere  mis- 
print of  Qj,  which  the  other  eds.  have  followed.  At  all  events,  I  can  discover  in  it 
neither  sense  nor  wit.     My  view  is  upheld  by  Q^. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Probably  we  are  to  suppose  that  Benvolio  uses  the  word  indite  in 
ridicule  of  the  Nurse's  'confidence.'  [Clarke.]  1865.  I  now  find  Walker  asking, 
'  Is  this  ["  indite"]  in  imitation  of  the  Nurse's  "  confidence"  ?' — 'Crit.,'  &c.,  vol.  iii, 
p.  226. 

White.  'Indite'  is  not  improbably  in  ridicule  of  the  Nurse's  'confidence;'  tot 
Benvolio  can  be  slyly  ironical;  but  it  is  possibly  a  mere  misprint  of  Q,. 

Ktly.  Benvolio  was  probably  anticipating  the  Nurse's  language. 

116.  So  ho  !]  JoH.NS.   Mercutio  having  roared  out  Sc  hoi  the  cry  of  the  sports 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  1 33 

Mer.  No  hare,  sir ;  unless  a  hare,  sir,  in  a  lenten  pie,  that  is 
something  stale  and  hoar  ere  it  be  spent. —  \Sings. 

An  old  hare  hoar,  120 

And  an  old  hare  hoar, 
Is  very  good  meat  in  Lent : 
But  a  hare  that  is  hoar, 
Is  too  much  for  a  score, 
When  it  hoars  ere  it  be  spent. —  125 

Romeo,  will  you  come  to  your  father's  ?  we'll  to  dinner  thither 
Rom.     I  will  follow  you 

Mer.  Farewell,  ancient  lady ;  farewell,  \singing\  '  lady,  lady, 
lady,'  [Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio 

119.  [Sings.]  Singing.  Capell.    om.         Coll.  Huds.  Ulr.  Del.  White,  Hal. 
QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Var.  Knt.  Coll.  (ed.  i ),  128.     [singing]  Dyce  (Farmer  conj.), 
Del.  Sta.   Hal.   Ktly.      He  walkes  by         Coll.  (ed.  2),  White,  Cambr. 

them,  and  sings.  (QJ  Ulr.  128.    farewell. ..ladfl   Separate  line, 

120-125.     An  old...spent.'\    As  inCa-         in  italics,  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS). 
pell.     Two  lines,  QqFf.     Four  in  (Q,) 

men  when  they  start  a  hare  \^Clarke'\,  Romeo  asks  what  he  has  found.  And  Mer- 
cutio answers.  No  hare,  &c.  The  rest  is  a  series  of  quibbles  unworthy  of  explana- 
tion, which  he  who  does  not  understand  needs  not  lament  his  ignorance.     \^Hal. 

A.  C.  So  ho  !  is  the  term  made  use  of  in  the  field  when  the  hare  is  found  in  her 
seat  \_Sta.'\,  and  not  when  she  is  started.     [Hal. 

120.  hoar]  Steev.  Hoar  or  hoary  is  often  used  for  mouldy,  as  things  grow  white 
from  moulding.     [Sing.  Huds.'\     So  in  Pierce  Pennyless' s  Supplication  to  the  Devil, 

1595  •  < as  hoary  lis,  Dutch  butter.'    Again  in  F.  Beaumont's  Letter  to  Speght  on 

his  edition  of  Chaucer,  1602:  'Many  of  Chaucer's  words  are  become,  as  it  were, 
vinew'd  and  hoarie  with  over  long  lying.'    Again  in  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour 

' his  grain  .  .  .  might  rot  Within  the  hoary  ricks.'    [Hal. 

Halliwell.  '  A  wenching  fellow,  having  beene  out  all  night,  was  asked  where 
he  had  been,  who  was  answered,  a  hunting.  A  hunting,  quoth  the  other ;  where,  I 
prethee  ?  Marry,  in  Bloomsbury  Park,  replyed  the  fellow.  How,  quoth  his  friend, 
in  Bloomsbury  Park  ?  That  was  too  little  purpose,  for  I  am  sure  there  is  nere  a  hare 
in  it.' — Mirth  in  Abundance,  1659. 

120-125.  Mal.  These  lines  appear  to  have  been  part  of  an  old  song.  [Sing, 
Huds.  Dyce. 

Sta.  This  may  be  so,  but  is  more  probably  an  extempore  rhyme  sung  by  Mercutio 
for  the  nonce. 

Coll.  (ed,  2).    A  not  very  intelligible  fragment  of  some  old  ballad. 

126.  to  dinner]  Clarke.  This,  among  many  other  passages  in  Sh.,  shows  that 
twelve  o'clock,  or  a  little  after,  was  the  usual  hour  for  dinner  in  his  time. 

128.  'lady,  lady,  lady.*]  T,  Warton  [Note  on  Twelfth  Night,  H,  iii].  The 
ballad  of  Susanna,  from  whence  this  line  is  taken,  was  licensed  by  T.  Colwell,  in 
1592,  under  the  title  of  The  goodly  and  constant  Wj^e  Susanna,    [Sing.  Huds.  Dyce. 

Sta,   a  stanza  is  given  in  Percy's  '■Reliques  '  '•ol.  i,  p.  204 : 
12 


134  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv 

Nurse,  Marr>',  farewell ! — I  pray  you,  sir,  what  saucy  merchant 
was  this,  that  was  so  full  of  his  ropery?  131 

130.     Marry,  farnvell !'[    (Q,)    Mai.  131.     ropery'^     roguery     F^,     Rowe, 

om.  QqFf,  Ulr.  Sta.  Pope,  Han. 

'  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon    Of  rsputalion  great  by  fame ; 
He  took  to  wife  a  faire  womin, 

Susanna  she  was  callde  by  name  :    A  woman  fair  and  vertuous ;     Lady,  lady: 
Why  should  we  not  of  her  learn  thus    To  live  godly?' 

Coll.  (eil.  2).  It  was  a  very  favorite  tune,  and  Mercutio,  according  to  the  (MS.), 
here  sang  a  part  of  it. 

130.  Marry,  farewell]  Ulr.  In  view  of  the  vexation  and  rage  of  the  Nurse  it 
seems  to  me  psychologically  more  correct  that  she  should  return  no  answer  to  Mer- 
cutio's  derisive  farewell.  I  think,  therefore,  that  these  words  were,  with  good 
reason,  left  out  by  the  later  edd. 

130.  merchant]  Steev.  This  term,  which  was,  and  still  is,  frequently  applied 
to  the  lowest  sort  of  dealers,  seems  to  have  been  used  in  contradistinction  \.o  gentle- 
man. The  term  chap,  i.  e.,  chapman,  a  word  of  the  same  import  with  merchant  in 
its  less  respectable  sense,  is  still  in  use  among  the  vulgar  as  a  general  denomination 
»or  any  person  of  whom  they  mean  to  speak  with  freedom  or  disrespect.  In  Church- 
yard's Chance,  1 580:  'What  saucie  merchaunt  speaketh  now,  saied  Venus  in  her 
rage.'     \_Sing.  Sta. 

Douce.  Whetstone,  in  his  Mirour  for  magestrates  of  cyties,  1 584,  speaking  of  the 
usurious  practices  of  the  citizens  of  London  who  attended  the  gaming-houses  for  the 
purpose  of  supplying  the  gentlemen  players  with  money,  has  the  following :  'The 
extremity  of  these  mens  dealings  hath  beene  and  is  so  cruell  as  there  is  a  natural 
malice  generally  impressed  in  the  hearts  of  the  gentlemen  of  England  towards  the 
citizens  of  London,  insomuch  as  if  they  odiously  name  a  man,  they  foorthwith  call 
him  a  trimtne  merchaunt.  In  like  despight  the  citizen  calleth  every  rascall  a  joly 
gentleman.  And  truly  this  mortall  envie  betweene  these  two  woorthie  estates  wa; 
first  engendred  of  the  cruell  usage  of  covetous  merchaunts  in  hard  bargaines  gotttr 
of  gentlemen,  and  nourished  with  malitious  words  and  revenges  taken  of  both  par- 
ties.'    \_Knt.  Hal. 

Dyce.  Compare,  in  The  Faire  Maide  of  Bristow,  1605,  'What  [s]ausie  mer- 
chant have  you  got  there?'     Sig.  B.  ii. 

White.  Sometimes  used  of  old  in  the  derogatory  sense  now  attached  to  '  huckster. 

Malliwell.  Barnaby  Rich,  in  his  New  Description  of  Ireland,  1610,  p.  69, 
speaking  of  the  shop-keepers  of  Dublin,  says :  '  The  trade  that  they  commonly  use 
is  but  to  London ;  from  thence  they  do  furnish  themselves  with  all  sortes  of  wares 
for  their  shoppes,  for  shipping  they  have  none  belonging  to  the  towne  that  is  worth 
the  speaking  of,  yet  they  will  bee  called  merchanttes ;  and  hee  that  hath  but  a  bar- 
rell  of  salt  or  a  barre  or  two  of  iron,  in  his  shop,  is  called  a  merchant ;  he  that  doth 
but  sel  earthen  pottes  and  pannes,  sope,  otmeale,  trenchers,  and  such  other  like 
trash,  is  no  lesse  than  a  merchant:  there  bee  shopkeepers  in  Dublin  that  all  the 
warres  they  are  able  to  shewe  are  not  worth  a  poore  English  pedlar's  packe,  and  yet 
all  these  bee  merchantes.' 

131.  ropery]  Steev.  Anciently  used  in  the  same  sense  as  roguery  is  now.  In 
7he  Three  Ladies  of  London,  1584 :  '  Thou  art  very  pleasant  and  full  of  thy  roptrye.^ 
\Sing.  Verp.  Huds.'\  Rope-tricks  are  mentioned  in  another  place.  \_Sing.  Call 
^'eri:  Iluds. 


Acrn,  sciv.]  ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  1 35 

Rom.  A  gentleman,  nurse,  that  loves  to  hear  himself  talk, 
and  will  speak  more  in  a  minute  than  he  will  stand  to  in  a 
month.  1 34 

Nurse.  An  'a  speak  any  thing  against  me,  I'll  take  him  down, 
an  *a  were  lustier  than  he  is,  and  twenty  such  Jacks ;  and  if  I 
cannot,  I'll  find  those  that  shall.  Scurvy  knave!  I  am  none 
of  his  flirt-gills !    I  am  none  of  his  skainsmates ! — And  thou 

13;.  136.     An\  Pope.    And  QqFf,  (Q^Qq^iF,.     skains    mates    F^.     kins- 

X  j8.     his"]  her  (T.  mates  M.  Mason  conj.    stezvs-mates  Bu- 

JKrt-gills']  Jlurt  gills  Q^.    Jlurt  bier  conj.* 
gils  Qj.   Jlurt-gils  Ff.   gil-Jlurts  Q^Qj.  To  her  man.  Rowe.    Turning  to 

skains-matesl  F^.   skaines  mates  Peter.  Cambr.  from  (Q,). 

Douce.  The  word  seems  to  have  been  deemed  unworthy  of  a  place  in  our  early 
dictionaries,  and  was  probably  coined  in  the  mint  of  the  slang  or  canting  crew.  It 
savours  strongly  of  the  halter,  and  appears  to  have  signified  a  low  kind  of  knavish 
waggery.  From  some  other  words  of  similar  import  it  may  derive  illustration. 
Thus  a  rope-rype  is  defined  in  Hulst's  Abecedarium  to  be '  an  ungracious  waghalter, 
nequain  /'  and  in  Minshew's  dictionary, '  one  ripe  for  a  rope,  or  for  whom  the  gal- 
lowes  grones.'  A  roper  has  nearly  the  same  definition  in  the  English  vocabulary  at 
the  end  of  Thomasii  Dictionarium,  1615  ;  but  the  word  occasionally  denoted  a  crafty 
fellow,  or  one  who  would  practise  a  fraud  against  another  (for  which  he  might  de- 
serve hanging).  So  in  the  book  of  biasing  of  arms  or  coat-armour,  ascribed  to 
Dame  Juliana  Bemers,  the  author  says, '  which  crosse  I  saw  but  late  in  tharmes  of  a 
noble  man ;  the  which  in  very  dede  was  sometyme  a  crafty  man,  a  roper,  as  he  him- 
self sayd,'  sig.  Aij.  b.  Roper  had  also  another  sense,  which,  though  rather  foreign 
to  the  present  purpose,  is  so  quaintly  expressed  in  one  of  our  old  dictionaries  that 
the  insertion  of  it  will  doubtless  be  excused :  •  Roper,  resiio,  is  he  that  looketh  in  al 
John  Roper's  window  by  translation,  he  that  hangeth  himselfe.' — Hulaet's  Abceda- 
rium  Anglico-Latinum,  1552,  fo. 

Nares.    The  same  as  roguery,  well  deserving  of  a  rope. 

Coll.  Churchyard,  in  his  •  Choice'  (Sign.  Cc  iii),  uses  roperipe  as  an  adjective; 
'  But  gallows  lucke  and  roperipe  happe.' 

Sta.   That  is,  ribaldry. 

White.  '  Ropery,'  '  rope  ripe'  and  '  rope-tricks'  were  all  used  with  humourous 
reference  to  acts  deemed  worthy  of  hempen  expiation ;  and  these,  in  Sh.'s  time,  in- 
cluded almost  every  violation  of  public  order  or  the  laws  of  property. 

138.  flirt-gills]  Nares.  An  arbitrary  transposition  of  the  compound  word  gill- 
flirt,  that  is,  a  Jlirting-gill,  a  woman  of  light  behavior.  The  gilly-Jlower,  from  the 
resemblance  of  its  name  to  the  word  gill-Jlirt.  was  considered  as  an  emblem  of  false- 
hood. Gill  was  a  current  and  familiar  term  lor  a  female.  As  in  the  proverb, '  Every 
lack  must  have  his  Gill,^  Ray  says  it  ought  to  be  written  Jyll,  being  a  familiar  sub- 
stitute for  Julia  or  Juliana.  Gill,  however,  may  be  safely  written,  for  from  Juli- 
ana was  derived  the  popular  name  Gillian,  as  well  as  Gillet  from  Julietta,  either  of 
which  would  supply  the  abbreviation  Gill, 

Sta.  The  meaning  of  Jlirt-gills  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  implied,  like  fiz-gig.  an- 
other term  of  the  same  age,  a  wild,  flirting,  romping  wench. 


130  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv 

must  stand  by  too,  and  suffer  every  knave  to  use  me  at  his 
pleasure  ?  140 

White.   In  Middleton's  Family  of  Love,  I,  ii,  Song : 

'  Now,  if  I  list,  will  I  love  no  more,  Nor  longer  wait  upon  a  gill. 
Since  every  place  now  yields  a  wench.    If  one  will  not,  another  will.' 

138.  skains-mates]  Mj4L.  This  means,  I  apprehend,  cut-throat  companiont, 
['  Possibly,'— Cb//.     '  Probably,'— Cirtw. 

Steev.  a  skein,  or  skain,  was  either  a  knife  or  a  short  dagger.  By  skains-matei 
the  Nurse  means  his  loose  companions  who  frequent  the  fencing-school  with  him, 
where  we  may  suppose  the  exercise  of  this  weapon  was  taught.  Green,  in  his  Quip 
for  an  Upstart  Courtier,  describes  '  an  ill-favoured  knave,  who  wore  by  his  side  a 
skeine  like  a  brewer's  bung-knife.'  Skein  is  the  Irish  word  for  a  knife.  \Sing. 
(ed.  i).  Corn.  Huds. 

Douce.  The  objection  to  these  interpretations  is,  that  the  Nurse  could  not  very 
well  compare  herself  with  characters  which  it  is  presumed  would  scarcely  be  found 
among  females  of  any  description.  One  commentator  [M.  Mason]  thinks  that  she 
ttses  skains-mates  for  kins-mates,  but  the  existence  of  such  a  term  may  be  questioned. 
Besides,  the  Nurse  blunders  only  in  the  use  of  less  obvious  words.  The  following 
conjecture  is  therefore  offered,  but  not  with  entire  confidence  in  its  propriety.  It 
will  be  recollected  that  there  are  skeins  of  thread,  so  that  the  good  nurse  may  perhaps 
mean  nothing  more  than  sempstresses,  a  word  not  always  used  in  the  most  honorable 
acceptation.     She  had  before  stated  that  she  was  '  none  of  his  flirt-gills.'     [//a/. 

Warner.  I  rather  take  it  to  mean  one  who  assists  in  winding  off  a  skein  of  silk, 
for  it  must  be  done  by  two;  and  I  am  told  these  are  at  this  time,  among  the  weavers 
in  Spital-fields,  looked  upon  as  the  lowest  kind  of  people.     \_Hal. 

Nares.  a  companion  of  some  sort,  from  the  term  mate ;  but  Mercutio  and  the 
Nurse  could  not  well  be  mates,  either  in  sword  play  or  in  winding  skains  of  silk. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  old  lady  means  '  roaring  or  swaggering  companions.' 

Coll.  (ed.  i).  Skene  is  used  by  many  writers  of  the  time.  R.  Armin,  in  his 
•Nest  of  Ninnies,'  1608  (reprinted  by  the  Sh.  Society),  has  this  passage:  '  If  I  do 
stick  in  the  bogs,  help  me  out — not  with  your  good  skene  head  me.' 

Dyce  (^'Remarks,'  &c.).  This  interpretation  [Collier's  approval  of  Malone]  can- 
not be  right,  because  the  Nurse  is  evidently  speaking  of  Mercutio's  female  compan- 
ions. The  meaning  of  skains-mates  (if  not  a  misprint,  which  I  suspect  it  is)  remains 
to  be  discovered.     \_Sing.  (ed.  2),  subs. 

HUDS.  [Malone's  interpretation  and  Dyce's  objection  quoted].  We  do  not  quite 
see  how  this  should  be  decisive. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  [Dyce's  remark  quoted  that  female  associates  are  alluded  to].  Just 
the  contrary ;  for  she  has  already  referred  to  his  female  companions  as  '  flirt-gills.' 
She  means  that  she  is  no  companion  of  his,  whether  female  or  not. 

Walker.  Read  'jrwrz^y-mates;'  see  context.  Scurvy,  in  the  old  plays,  is  written 
indiscriminately  with  an  sc  or  an  sk,  a  j  or  an  ie ;  see  this  very  passage.  Skuruit 
might  easily  be  mistaken  for  skaines  by  an  eye  like  that  of  a  printer ;  perhaps,  too, 
the  intrusive  final  s  (Art.  xxxviii)  may  have  crept  in  here;  though  there  is  no  need 
of  calling  in  its  assistance. 

Sta.  This  has  been  a  sore  puzzle  to  all  the  commentators.  The  difficulty,  after 
all,  proves  of  easy  solution.  The  word  skain,  I  am  told  by  a  Kenlishman,  was  for- 
merly a  fimiliar  term  in  parts  of  Kent  to  express  what  we  now  call  a  scape-grace  of 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  137 

Peter.  I  saw  no  man  use  you  at  his  pleasure ;  if  I  had,  my 
weapon  should  quickly  have  been  out,  I  warrant  you.  I  dare 
draw  as  soon  as  another  man,  if  I  see  occasion  in  a  good  quarrel 
and  the  law  on  my  side.  144 

Nurse.  Now,  afore  God,  I  am  so  vexed  that  every  part  about 
me  quivers.  Scurvy  knave ! — Pray  you,  sir,  a  word ;  and  as  I 
told  you,  my  young  lady  bade  me  inquire  you  out ;  what  she 
bade  me  say,  I  will  keep  to  myself:  but  first  let  me  tell  ye,  if  ye 
should  lead  her  into  a  fool's  paradise,  as  they  say,  it  were  a  very 
gross  kind  of  behaviour,  as  they  say ;  for  the  gentlewoman  is 
young,  and  therefore,  if  you  should  deal  double  with  her,  truly 
it  were  an  ill  thing  to  be  offered  to  any  gentlewoman,  and  very 
weak  dealing.  153 

142.     out,  /]  out:  /  QJ^^.     out.  I  149.     m/^Jfl]  (QJ  Theob.    m  a  QqFf, 

Momm.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  White,  Hal.    into  Rowe 

147,  148.     bade. ..bade']  bad.. . bad {C^^)  (ed.  2),*  Pope,  Han. 

Capell.    bid. ..bid  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Sta.  150.     gentlewoman]  gentle-ivotnen  F^. 

^a^^...^ja' Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  White,  Clarke,  153.     rueak]    wicked    Coll.    (ed.    2) 

Hal.  (MS.),  Ulr. 

ne'er-do-well ;  just  the  sort  of  person  the  worthy  old  Nurse  would  entertain  a  horror 
jf  being  considered  a  companion  to.  Even  at  this  day,  my  informant  says,  skain  is 
jften  heard  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet  and  about  the  adjacent  coast,  in  the  sense  of  a 
reckless,  dare-devil  sort  of  fellow.      [  IVAite,  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Clarke. 

Cham.    The  skeen-dubh,  or  black  knife,  is  common  in  Ireland  and  the  Highlands. 

149.  fool's  paradise]  Mal.  In  Barnabe  Rich's  Farewell:  '  Knowing  the  fashion 
of  you  men  to  be  such,  as  by  praisyng  our  beautie,  you  think  to  bring  us  into  a  /oole's 
paradize.'     ^Alares. 

Nares.   Deceptive  good  fortune. 

153.  weak]  Coll,  ['Notes  and  Emend.,' Sec, -p.  ^88].  We  can  easily  believe  that 
'  weak'  is  here  not  the  proper  epithet,  and  the  (MS.)  warrants  us  in  altering  it.  The 
copyist  probably  misheard. 

Ulr.  Weak  is  a  clearly  inappropriate  adjective,  which  would  have  been  long  since 
recognized  as  a  misprint,  had  not  the  Nurse  always  been  credited  with  all  kinds  of 
uncouth  and  ridiculous  expressions. 

Sing.  ['Sk.  Vindicated,'  1853,  p.  232).  Collier's  emendation  is  very  specious ;  but 
the  Nurse  is  not  very  precise  in  her  language,  and  the  word  weak  may  be  intended 
as  a  characteristic  misapplication. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  The  Nurse  is  not  very  precise  in  her  language;  she  confounds 
uieak  and  wicked. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  No  commentator  ever  thought  of  this  want  of  precision  until  it 
was  shown  in  our  'Notes  and  Emend.' 

White.   •  Wicked,'  from  Collier's  (MS.),  is  perhaps  what  the  Nurse  means  to  say. 

Clarke.   To  substitute  wicked  for  '  weak'  would  be  to  destroy  the  point  of  the 
passage,  which  is  that  the  Nurse  intends  to  use  a  most  forcible  expression,  and  blun 
ders  upon  a  most  feeble  one. 
12* 


138  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ii.  sc.  iv 

Rom.     Nurse,  commend  me  to  thy  lady  and  mistress.     I  pro- 
test unto  thee —  155 

Nurse.  Good  heart,  and,  i'  faith,  I  will  tell  her  as  much. 
Lord,  Lord,  she  will  be  a  joyful  woman. 

Rom.  What  wilt  thou  tell  her,  nurse?  thou  dost  not  mark 
me. 

Nurse.  I  will  tell  her,  sir,  that  you  do  protest ;  w'hich,  as  I 
take  it,  is  a  gentlemanlike  offer. 

Rovi.     Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  come  to  shrift 
This  afternoon ; 

And  there  she  shall  at  Friar  Laurence'  cell 
Be  shrived  and  married.     Here  is  for  thy  pains.  165 

Nurse.     No,  truly,  sir ;  not  a  penny. 

Rovi.     Go  to  ;  I  say  you  shall. 

Nurse.     This  afternoon,  sir?  well,  she  shall  be  there. 

Rom.     And  stay,  good  nurse  ;  behind  the  abbey-wall 
Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee,  170 

And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a  tackled  stair ; 
Which  to  the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night. 
Farewell ;  be  trust}'',  and  I'll  quit  thy  pains ; 
Farewell;  commend  me  to  thy  mistress.  175 

154.  A'arse,"]  om.  Rowe,  &c.  nurse ;...wan'\    ^^^lltc.      Anon. 

155.  thee — ]  thee.  QqF^.  conj.*      rmrse...waU,  Qqf'jF^F    yu.<all : 
159.     tne,'\  mee.  Q^.      me?  or  fiiee ?         Q  ).    nurse, .. rujall,  Y ^,V^o\\e..    nurse,.. 

The  rest,  Rowe.  wall :  Pope,  &c.  Capeli,  Var.  et  cet. 

161.     a]  om.  Q^.  171.     thee"]  the  F^F^. 

162,163.     Bid. .. afternoon  ;'\   Capeli.  1 74.    f«'/']  Q,.  j^?<«<r  The  rest,  Rowe, 

One  line,  Q,Q,Ff.     Prose,  Q^Q..     Bid  Capeli,  Knt.  Dyce  (ed   2).    'quite  Coll. 

her  devise  Separate  line,  Del.  Cambr.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Wliite.     'quit  Hal. 

afternoon...  Ktly.  1 75.     Farewell.. .tnis>ress.'\  om.  Pope, 

164.     Laurence'"]    Pope.      Lawrence  &c.  Johns. 

QqFf.     Lawrence' s  Rowe.  tnistress]  r/iistrea,  nurse  Martley 

169.     stay"]  Qq.     stay  thou  Yf,  Howe.  conj.*     niisteress  Kl\y. 

162-165.  Bifi  ■  •  •  married]  Dyce  ^ed.  2).  From  the  broken  metre,  but  more 
^;articularly  from  the  word  'there,'  which  would  seem  to  refer  to  some  previously 
mentioned  locality,  I  conclude  that  this  speech  is  mutilated.  In  (Q,)  it  is  still 
ihorter. 

Ktly.  There  is  something  lost  here ;  perhaps  '  to  the  Franciscan  Convent.' 

171.  a  tackled  stair]  Johns.    Like  stairs  of  rope  in  the  tackle  of  a  ship. 

Mal.  a  stair,  for  a  flight  of  stairs,  is  still  the  language  of  Scotland,  and  waj 
probal  ly  once  common  to  both  kingdoms.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

175.  mistress]  S.  Walker  ('  Vers.^  p.  47).  This  word  is  particularly  frcquen: 
«-s  a  trisyll-'hle. 


ACTii,  sc.  iv-l  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 39 

Nurse.     Now  God  in  heaven  bless  thee !     Hark  you,  sir. 

Rom.     What  say'st  thou,  my  dear  nurse  ? 

Nurse.     Is  your  man  secret  ?     Did  you  ne'er  hear  say, 
Two  may  keep  counsel,  putting  one  away? 

Rom.     I  warrant  thee,  my  man's  as  true  as  steel.  180 

Nurse.  Well,  sir ;  my  mistress  is  the  sweetest  lady — Lord, 
Lord  !  when  'twas  a  little  prating  thing — O,  there  is  a  nobleman 
in  town,  one  Paris,  that  would  fain  lay  knife  aboard ;  but  she, 
good  soul,  had  as  lieve  see  a  toad,  a  very  toad,  as  see  him.  I 
anger  her  sometimes,  and  tell  her  that  Paris  is  the  properer 
man  ;  but,  I'll  warrant  you,  when  I  say  so,  she  looks  as  pale  as 
any  clout  in  the  versal  world.  Doth  not  rosemary  and  Romeo 
begin  both  with  a  letter  ? 

177.  ja>''j/]  sayest  Pope,  &c.  1S4.     lieve\  Q^,  Pope,     len^e  QjQ,<^ 
178,179.    Verse,  Rowe.   Prose,  QqFf,         F^F^F^.      live   F^,    Rowe.      lief   Dycq 

White.  Clarke,  Cambr. 

180.     /   u<arrant'\    Warrant    QqF,,  185.     I  anger'\  I  do  anger  Q^^^^iX. 

\\'hite.  187.     versal'\   QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca- 

waw'j]  Rowe.  wawjQq.  manYl.  pell,  Dyce,  Cambr.    i/arja/ ilan.  John^ 

181-197.     As  verse  by  Capell.  et  cet. 

178.  Is  your,  &c.]  Mommsen  {'Proleg.,^  p.  144).  Sh.  does  not  by  any  meant 
follow  Marlowe's  convenient  custom  of  giving  all  the  lesser  speeches  in  prose.  We 
find  Mercutio,  for  example,  from  the  beginning  of  this  scene,  designedly  made  to 
speak  in  prose,  while  Benvolio,  the  graver  charac  ter,  first  uses  blank  verse,  then,  from 
line  9  on,  falling  into  the  tone  of  Mercutio,  and  ilso  speaking  in  prose.  The  second 
speech  of  Mercutio,  line  4,  is  at  best  only  half  niythmical.  At  the  end  of  this  scene, 
when  the  jesting  speeches  end,  Romeo  uses  verse  again,  the  Nurse  comes  in  with 
prose,  Romeo  keeps  on  in  verse,  and  now  the  Nurse  falls  partly  into  it,  rises  to  a 
trivial  rhyming  proverb  (which  she  turns  upside  down),  but  soon  falls  hack  into  hei 
prosaic  tattle.  In  like  manner  in  III,  i,  we  find  prose  and  verse  alternating,  accord- 
ing as  the  more  elevated,  or  the  more  common,  tone  is  meant  to  preponderate.  li 
is  indeed  very  doubtful,  in  my  judgment,  whether  Romeo's  speech.  III,  i,  80-S4, 
was  not  meant  as  prose. 

iSo.  I  warrant]  White.  One  of  the  modernizations  of  F^  was  the  addition 
of  the  pronoun  '/,'  in  which  it  has  been  universally  followed  hitherto.  The  elision 
was  common  in  Sh.'s  day  and  long  after.     \^Dyce  (ed.  2). 

182.  little  prating  thing]  Mal.    So  in  the  Poem: 

'And  how  she  gave  her  sucke  in  youth,  she  leaveth  not  to  tell. 
A  pretty  babe  (quod  she)  it  was  when  it  was  yong  ; 
Lord  how  it  could  full  pretely  have  prated  with  it  tong  I'    [Sing. 

184.  as  lieve]  W.  Sandys  {'Sh.  Illustrated  by  the  Dialect  of  Cornwall,'  Sh.  Sec. 
Papers,  vol.  iii,  p.  23).     '  She'd  as  lev  see  a  toa-ad,'  would  an  old  Cornish  nurse  say. 

185.  sometimes]  Clarke.  But  a  few  hours  have  in  fact  elapsed  since  l£.st 
night's  interview  between  the  lovers,  yet  the  dramatic  effect  of  a  longer  period  '.1 
thus  given  to  the  interval  by  the  introduction  of  the  single  word  '  sometimes.' 


I40  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iw 

Rovi.     Ay,  nurse;  what  of  that?  both  with  an  R.  189 

Nurse.     Ah,  mocker !  that's  the  dog's  name ;  R  is  for  the — 

190.     Ah,"]  Rowe.     A  QqFf.  Coll.   Ulr.  White.     R.  is  not  for  thee, 

dog's   name, 'I    dog,    name    Q^.  Han.    R  is  for  the  nonce ;  Steev.,  1773. 

tog's;  or  dog's  letter,  Farmer  conj.  (Johns,  conj.).      R  for  thee?  no ;   Ca- 

190,  191.     R  is  for  the — No ;'\   (Rit-  pell.     R.  is  for  the  dog.     No;  Steev., 

son  conj.),  Del.  Cambr.  Ktly.    R.  is  for  1778  (Tyrwhitt  conj.),  Var.  Knt.  Huds. 

the  no,  QjQjQ^Ff.    R.  is  for  the  no.  Q^.  Dyce,  Sta.  Clarke,  Hal. 

R.  is  for  thee?     No;  Theob.  (Warb.),  No'\  om.  Sing.  (ed.  2). 

188.  rosemary]  Mal.  Rosemary,  being  conceived  to  have  the  power  of  strength- 
ening the  memory,  was  an  emblem  of  remembrance  and  of  the  affection  of  lovers, 
and  (for  this  reason,  probably,)  was  worn  at  weddings.  \^Com.'\  So  in  a  HandfuU 
of  Pleasant  Dclites,  Sec,  1584:  'Rosemary  is  for  remembrance,  Betweene  us  daie 
and  night.'  Again,  in  our  author's  Hamlet,  IV,  v,  175.  That  rosemary  was  much 
used  at  weddings,  appears  from  many  passages  in  the  old  plays.  So  in  The  Noble 
Spanish  Soldier,  1634:  '  I  meet  few  but  are  stuck  with  a  rosemary ;  ^\trj  one  ask'd 
me  who  was  to  be  married?^  Again,  in  The  Wit  of  a  Woman,  1604:  'W^ine  and 
cs}itit%,  zx\A  rosemary  i\w^  nosegaies  ?     What,  z  wedding  .^^     [//al. 

Steev.  The  Nurse,  1  believe,  is  guiltless  of  so  much  meaning  as  is  here  imputed 
to  her  question.     [I/al. 

Mal.  Wliat  then  does  she  mean  ?  We  are  told,  immediately  afterwards,  that 
Juliet  has  •  the  prettiest  sententious  of  it.'     \^//al. 

Dyce.  It  was  used  both  at  weddings  and  at  funerals.     [Compare  note  on  IV, 

V.  79-] 

190.  dog's  name]  Warb.  The  Nurse,  who,  we  must  suppose,  could  not  read, 
thought  Romeo  had  mocked  her,  and  says :  '  No,  sure,  I  know  better;  our  dog's  name 
is  R,  yours  begins  with  another  letter.'  This  is  natural  enough  and  in  character.  R 
put  her  in  mind  of  that  sound  which  is  made  by  dogs  when  ihey  snarl,  R  in  schools 
being  called  The  dog's  letter.  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  English  Grammar,  says :  R  is  the 
dog's  letter,  and  hirreth  in  the  sound.  \^Sing.  Knt.  Corn.  Verp.  Huds.  Clarke.'\ 
*  Irritata  canis  quod  R.  R.  quam  plurima  dicat.' — Lucil.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

Farmer.  The  dog's  letter  is  exemplified  in  Barclay's  Ship  of  Fools,  1578: 

'  This  man  malicious,  which  troubled  is  with  wrath. 

Nought  els  soundefh  but  the  hoorse  letter  R. 
I'hough  all  be  well,  yet  he  none  aunswere  hath 
Save  the  dogges  Utter  glowming  with  nar,  nar.' 

ISing.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal.  Clarkt. 

Douce.  Erxsmus,  in  explaining  the  adage  '  canina  facundia,'  says :  '  R.  litera 
quae  in  rixando  prima  est,  canina  vocatur.'  \_Knt.  Verp."]  I  think  it  is  used  in  this 
•ense  more  than  once  in  Rabelais ;  and,  in  the  Alchemist,  Subtle  says,  in  making  out 
Abel  Drugger's  name  :  '  And  right  anenst  him  a  dog  snarling  /r.'     [Sing. 

RlTSON.  Tynvhitt's  alteration  is  certainly  superior  to  either  Warburton's  or  Dr. 
Johnson's, — not  but  the  old  reading  is  as  good,  if  not  better,  when  properly  regu- 
lated.    {Del. 

Todd.  The  following  is  an  illustration  of  dogs  from  Nash's  Summer's  Last  Will 
and  Testament,  1600:  'They  arre  and  barke  at  night  against  the  moone.'  \_Sing. 
Knt.   Verp.  Huds.  Clarke. 

Nares.  The  r  is  good  classical  authority  for  calling  R  the  dog's  letter,  thougb 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  I41 

No ;  I  know  it  begins  with  some  other  letter — and  she  hath  the 
prettiest  sententious  of  it,  of  you  and  rosemary,  that  it  would  do 
you  good  to  hear  it. 

191.     jow^]  «£>  Rowe,  Pope,    another  193.     that  it  would'\    ^  Twould   Ca- 

Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  pell. 

Warburton  has  quoted  a  verse  from  Lucilius  that  does  not  exist.  The  verse  really  is : 
Irritata  canis  quod,  homo  quam,  planiu'  dicit.  It  alludes,  indeed,  to  the  letter  R, 
but  does  not  introduce  it.  Persius  also  says :  Sonat  haec  de  nare  canina  litera. 
[^^a.]  But  the  idea  has  been  taken  up  in  all  ages,  and  must  have  been  very  familiar 
in  Sh.'s  time,  or  he  would  not  have  put  it  into  the  mouth  of  the  old  Nurse,  whom 
the  context  shows  to  be  unable  to  spell.  Sh.  would  find  it  in  the  commonest  books 
of  his  time.  His  friend  Jonson's  Grammar  was  not  published  perhaps  in  his  life- 
time ;  but  he  might  have  heard  from  him,  in  conversation,  that '  R  is  the  dog's  letter, 
and  hurreth  in  the  sound.'  Or  he  might  have  studied  the  curious  rebus  in  the 
Alchemist  (ii,  6)  on  Abel  Drugger's  name. 

Knt.  In  Holland's  translation  of  Plutarch's  Morals  :  '  a  dog  is,  by  nature,  fell  and 
quarrelsome,  given  to  arre  and  war  upon  a  very  small  occasion.' 

Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  meaning  of  this  passage  seems  to  have  been  hitherto  mistaken, 
owing  to  '  thee'  in  the  old  copies  (as  was  often  the  case)  having  been  misprinted  the. 
The  Nurse  means  to  ask,  •  how  can  R,  which  is  the  dog's  name,  be  for  thee  ?'  And 
she  answers  herself,  '  No ;  I  know  Romeo  begins  with  some  other  letter.'  The 
modem  text  has  usually  followed  the  suggestion  of  Tyrwhitt ;  but  no  change  is  neces- 
sary beyond  the  mere  alteration  of  the  to  '  thee.'  It  is  singular  that  this  trifling 
change  should  not  have  been  suggested  before  ['  long  ago'  (ed.  2)].     [  Verp. 

Dyce  {^Remarks,'  &c.,  p.  171).  Collier  is  not  aware  that  the  'trifling  change' 
which  he  has  made  here  was  not  only  proposed  by  Warburton,  but,  at  his  suggestion, 
inserted  in  the  text  by  Theobald.  I  think  it  quite  wrong ;  '  R  w  for  thee  ?'  being  by 
no  means  a  simple  or  natural  mode  of  putting  the  question.  The  strong  probability 
is,  that  the  word  '  dog'  (as  Tyrwhitt  conjectured)  has  dropt  out  from  the  text. 

Ulr.  It  is  to  me  very  doubtful  whether  the  foregoing  emendation  [Warburton's] 
is  the  true  one  or  not,  for  the  reason  that  the  Nurse  has  always  hitherto  addressed 
Romeo  as  '  you ;'  and  the  sudden  transition  to  the  '  Thou'  appears  wholly  purpose- 
less. I  am  more  inclined  to  suspect  a  misprint  in  '  no,'  and  instead  thereof  would 
read  'dog,'  as  Tyrwhitt  conjectures;  but  then  drop  the  'no'  before  which  Tyrwhitt 
inserts  '  dog.' 

Del.  Ritson's  emendation,  which  only  changes  the  punctuation  of  the  old  text,  is 
ihe  most  plausible. 

White.  Collier  more  reasonably  supposes  that  '  the'  was  printed  for  '  thee,'  which 
often  happened. 

Dyce.  Even  in  the  days  of  the  Romans,  Ji  was  called  the  dog's  letter,  from  its 
resemblance  in  sound  to  the  snarling  of  a  dog.  Lucilius  alludes  to  it  in  a  fragment 
which  is  quoted  with  various  corruptions  by  Nonius  Marcellus,  Charisius,  and  Donatus 
on  Terence,  and  which  Joseph  Scaliger  amended  thus :  '  Irritata  canes  quod,  homo 
qukm,  planiu'  dicit'  ('  canes'  being  the  nom.  sing,  fem.) ;  and  Persius  has  '  Sonat  hie 
de  nare  canina  Litera,'  sat.  i,  109.  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  English  Grammar,  says  that 
B  '  Is  the  dog's  letter,  and  hurreth  in  the  sound ;  the  tongue  striking  thf  'nner  palate 


142  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv 

Rovi.     Commend  me  to  thy  lady.  \_Exit  Rovieo, 

Nurse.     Ay,  a  thousand  times. — Peter!  195 

Pet.     Anon  ? 

194.  lady.'\  lady —  Pope,  &c.  titnes.  Peter.  Q^.    times.  Pe'er, — Theob 
[Exit    Romeo.]    Rowe.      om.  QqFf,         Warb.  Johns, 

Before  Peter!  line  195,  Dyce,  Cambr.  196.     Anon?'\  Theob.    Anon.  QqFf, 

195.  Ay'\  om.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Ulr.  Sin<;.  (ed.  2), 
times.   Peter  !'\\i7cn.   times  Peter.         Huds.     White,     Ktly.       Anon!     Del 

Q,.   times,  /'f/.rr/' Q^Q^Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.         Cambr. 

with  a  trembling  about  the  teeth.' — Works,  vol.  ix,  p.  281,  ed.  Gifford;  and  various 
passages  to  the  same  effect  might  be  cited  from  our  early  authors. 

Geralu  Massey  ('i'/i.'j  Sonnets,^  &c.,  London,  1S66,  p.  471).  Now,  here  is  more 
meant  than  meets  the  eye.  The  Nurse  is  being  used.  There  is  something  that  she 
does  not  quite  fathom,  yet  her  lady  does.  She  is  prettily  wise  over  a  pleasant  con 
ceit.  Romeo  understands  it,  too,  if  we  may  judge  by  his  judicious  answer.  The 
Nurse,  however,  knows  there  is  another  letter  involved.  There  is  a  name  that 
begins  with  a  difTerent  letter  to  the  one  sounded;  but  this  name  is  not  in  the  Play, 
therefore  it  cannot  be  Rosemary,  which  the  Nurse  knows  does  not  begin  with  an 
•  R.'  Name  and  letter  have  to  do  with  Romeo ;  the  lady  sees  how,  but  the  Nurse, 
who  started  to  tell  the  lover  a  good  joke  about  Juliet's  playing  with  his  name,  is 
puzzled  in  the  midst  of  it ;  can't  make  it  out  exactly,  but  it's  a  capital  joke,  and  it 
would  do  his  heart  good  to  see  how  it  pleases  the  lady,  who  is  learned  in  the  matter, 
though  she,  the  Nurse,  be  no  scholar  !  We  shall  fiud  a  meaning  for  the  tirst  time 
if  Southampton  be  the  original  of  Romeo,  and  make  sense  of  the  Nurse's  nonsense 
by  supposing,  as  we  well  may,  that  here  is  an  aside  on  the  part  of  the  Poet  to  his 
friends,  and  that  the  name  which  begins  with  another  letter  than  the  one  first 
sounded  is  W^riothesley !  This  bit  of  Sh.'s  fun  has  perplexed  his  commentators  most 
amusingly ;  their  hunt  after  the  Dog  and  the  '  dog's  letter  R'  being  the  best  fun  of  all. 
The  only  *  dog'  in  the  Nurse's  mind  is  that '  mocker'  of  herself,  the  audacious  lover 
of  her  young  lady.  Romeo  has  put  her  out  of  reckoning  by  saying  '  both  with  an 
R.'  And  the  Nurse,  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  household  favorite,  and  a  chuckle 
of  her  amorous  old  heart,  says :  '  Ah  you  dog,  you,  "  R"  is  for  "  Rosemary"  and 
also  for — no,  there'' s  some  other  letter,  and  my  lady  knows  all  about  it ;'  only  she  says 
this  half  to  herself,  as  she  tries  to  catch  the  missing  meaning  of  her  speech,  the  very 
point  of  her  story.  'Rosemary'  is  merely  the  herb  of  that  name.  ^That's  for 
remembrance'  with  Juliet,  not  for  the  name  of  a. dog!  The  second  Dog  is  Tyr- 
whitt's,  not  Sh.'s.  In  the  present  instance  the  Poet  is  using  the  Nurse  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  his  friends,  just  as  he  uses  Mrs.  Quickly  and  Dogberry  for  ours ;  tliat  is,  by 
making  ignorance  a  dark  reflector  of  light  for  us ;  causing  them  to  hit  the  mark  of 
his  iiieaning  for  us  whilst  missing  it  for  themselves ;  thus  we  are  flattered  and  they 
are  befooled. 

Clarke.  We  think  that  the  Nurse  is  made  to  say  « the  dog's  name'  instead  of '  the 
dog's  letter,'  partly  because  Sh.  has  a  mode  of  using  a  popularly  known  phrase  and 
giving  it  a  touch  of  his  own  peculiar  fashion,  partly  because  it  gives  an  effect  of 
blunder  and  confusion  to  the  old  woman's  diction  here,  and  jiartly  because  the  word 
'  name'  thus  introduced  forms  the  antecedent  to  '  it'  in  the  next  clause  of  the  sen- 
tence :  '  I  know  it  begins  with  some  other  letter' — meaning  '  the  name  I  am  thinking 
of. — Romeo.' 


ACrn,  sc.T.l  ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 

Nurse.     Peter,  take  my  fan,  and  go  before. 


143 

\Exeunt, 


Scene  V.     CapnleVs  orchard. 

Enter  Juliet, 

yiil.     The  clock  struck  nine  when  I  did  send  the  nurse ; 
In  half  an  hour  she  promised  to  return. 
Perchance  she  cannot  meet  him ;  that's  not  so. 
O,  she  is  lame !  love's  heralds  should  be  thoughts, 
Which  ten  times  faster  glide  than  the  sun's  beams 
Driving  back  shadows  over  lowering  hills  ; 
Therefore  do  nimble-pinion'd  doves  draw  love. 


197.  Peter...before\  (QJ  Steev.  Be- 
fore and  apace  QqFf,  Ulr.  {^Before,  F  , 
Rowe,  Knt.  Corn.  Del.  Sta.  White.) 
Take  my  fan  and  go  before  Pope,  &c. 
Before;  atid  walk  apace  Cz.^q\\.  Peter... 
before,  and  apace.  Cambr. 

Scene  v.]  Han.  Scene  vi.  Rowe. 
Act  III.  Scene  n.  Capell. 

Capulet's  orchard.]  Globe,  Dyce 
(ed.  2),  Cambr.  Capulet's  House.  Rowe, 
Sac.  Capulet's  Garden.  Capell,Var.  et  cet. 


4.  heralds']  heraulds  Q^QjQ^F^,.  Her- 
auld  r,F^.     Herauid  F^. 

5.  glide]  F^.    glides  The  rest,  Rowe. 
sun's  beams]  stiti-beams  Rowe,  &c. 

6.  back]  black  Coll.  (MS.) 
lowering]  lowring   QqFf,  Rowe, 

&c.  Bos.  Camp.  Knt.  (ed.  l),  Sta.  lowW- 
ing  Har.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  White,  Ktly.  Knt. 
(ed.  2).  lourifig  Sing.  (ed.  i).  Globe, 
Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr. 

7.  nimble-pinion^ d]  Hyphen,  Pope. 


197.  my  fan]  Del.  [Lexikon).  Sh.,  having  once  before  made  the  public  laugh 
over  Peter  and  the  fan,  in  revising  the  play,  struck  out  the  repetition  of  the  joke. 
But  the  edd.  cannot  thus  resign  him,  and  therefore  bring  him  to  light  again  out 

of  (QJ- 

DvcE.  The  fans  used  by  ladies  in  Sh.'s  time  consisted  generally  of  ostrich  or 
other  feathers  stuck  into  handles,  which  were  sometimes  very  costly,  being  made  of 
silver,  gold,  or  ivory  inlaid :  '  In  the  Sidney  Papers,  published  by  Collins,  a  fan  is 
presented  to  Queen  Elizabeth  for  a  New- Year's  gift,  the  handle  of  which  was  studded 
with  diamonds.' — T.  Warton. 

4.  be  thoughts]  Steev.  Sh.  seems  to  have  thought  the  idea,  contained  in  the 
corresponding  lines  in  (QJ,  too  valuable  to  be  lost.  He  has  therefore  inserted  it  in 
Romeo's  first  speech  to  the  Apothecary  in  V,  i,  64,  65.     \_Sing. 

6  back  shadows]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  Juliet  is  probably  referring  to  the  rapid  manner 
in  which  the  sun's  light  drives  back  the  shadows  in  which  the  hills  are  involved. 
Here,  perhaps,  the  (MS.)  misheard  '  back,'  and  wrote  black  in  his  margin  in 
consequence. 

7.  love]  Knt.  The  '  love'  thus  drawn  was  the  queen  of  love,  for  the  '  wlr.d-swift 
Cupid'  had  «  wings.'  Sh.  had  here  the  same  idea  which  suggested  his  own  beautiful 
description  at  the  close  of  the  Venus  and  Adonis : 


*  Thus  weary  of  the  world,  away  she  hies. 

And  yokes  her  silver  doves ;  by  whose  swift  aid. 
Their  mistress,  mounted,  through  the  empty  skies 
In  her  light  chariot  quickly  is  convey'd — ' 


144  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act.  ii,  sc.  ▼, 

And  therefore  hath  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings. 

Now  is  the  sun  upon  the  highmost  hill 

Of  this  day's  journey,  and  from  nine  till  twelve  10 

Is  three  long  hours ;  yet  she  is  not  come. 

Had  she  affections  and  warm  youthful  blood, 

She'd  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a  ball ; 

My  words  would  bandy  her  to  my  sweet  love. 

And  his  to  me  ;  15 

But  old  folks,  many  feign  as  they  were  dead  ; 

Unwieldy,  slow,  heavy  and  pale  as  lead. — 

XI.     Is  three']  Is  there  Cl^.    I  three  Yi.  would  send  her  back  again.    Seymour 

Ay  three  Rowe,  Pope.     Are  three  Han.  conj.     And  his  to  me  would  bandy  her 

yet]  and  yet  Rowe,  &c.  (Han.).  agairi  Ktly. 

13.     She''d  be  as]  Rowe.     She' Id  be  15,  1 6.     Arranged  as  in  Rowe. 

as  FjFjF^.    She  would  be  as  QqF,,  Dyce  16.     many  feign]  marry,  feign  Johns, 

(ed.  i),  Cambr.      She  would  be  Anon.  marry,  fare  "^YixX.^.     marry,  seem  Ktly. 

conj.*  /arrj/,  _/aj/,4,  Bullock  conj.* 

15.  And  his  to  me :]  And  his  to  me  17.    /a/.?]  fl'w// Coll.  (MS.),  Ktly. 

13.  She'd]  MoMMSEN.  So  violent  a  crasis  as  canU,  don't,  I'd,  he'd,  of's,  in^t^ 
in's  is  never  found  in  passages  of  lofty  style  in  this  play.  In  the  present  line,  if  we 
may  not  erase  '  cs^  we  can  by  synizesis  pronounce  be  as  as  one  syllable,  like  the 
word  ear. 

14.  bandy]  Nares.    Originally  a  term  at  tennis ;  horn  bander.  Ft. 

16.  many  feign]  ^Coll.  {'Notes  and  Emend.,'  &c.,  ed.  2,  1853).  There  must  be 
something  wrong  here ;  why  should  '  old  folks  feign  as  dead  ?'  Feign  is  spelt 
•  faine,'  and  it  turns  out  to  be  a  misprint  for  seeme  (the  long  s  being  in  fault),  and  the 
three  lines  are  thus  reduced  to  two  in  the  (MS.) : 

'  And  his  to  me ;  but  old  folks  seem  as  dead  ; 
Unwieldy,  slow,  heavy  and  dull  as  lead.' 

There  appears  very  little  fitness  in  saying  that  old  folks  are  '  pale  as  lead ;'  for  though 
the  epithet  in  itself  is  intelligible  enough,  to  state  that  old  folks  are  'dull  as  lead'  ia 
far  more  applicable  to  Juliet's  complaint. 

White.  Hitherto  '  faine'  has  been  accepted  as  a  spelling  of  '  feign,'  though  with 
a  universally-expressed  opinion  that  the  passage  was  corrupt.  But  is  it  not  clear 
that  '  many  faine*  is  a  misprint  of  '  marry,  fare' ?     \_Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  But  '  fare'  has  no  propriety  here.  (Qy.,  had  the  MS.  '  moue  yfaith' 
('  move  i'  faith'),  which  was  corrupted  into  '  many  fain'  ?) 

Ktly.  '  Many  faine'  is  nonsense ;  for  '  many'  tnarry  has  been  proposed,  and  I 
adopt  it,  reading  fare  (to  go,  to  move  along,  a  Spenserian  term)  for  '  faine.'  In  Cor. 
ii,  2,  we  have  again  ain  for  ar.  For  '  pale'  we  should  probably  read  dull.  See 
Timon,  II,  i,  228.  We  have  elsewhere  (Merc,  of  Ven.,  II,  vii,  8)  'dull  lead.'  More- 
over, lead  is  not  pale,  and  the  Nurse  would  seem  to  have  been  rather  a  jolly,  rubi- 
cund sort  of  woman,  li  fare  be  the  right  reading,  it  would  almost  require  dull. 
On  lUe  other  hand  we  have  in  Chaucer  (Tr.  and  Cr.,  ii) :  'With  asshen  pale  as  Ude! 
and  (Dream)  '  That  pale  he  wax  as  any  lede.' 


ACT  u,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 45 

Enter  Nurse,  u  ith  Peter. 

O  God,  she  comes ! — O  honey  nurse,  what  news  ? 

Hast  thou  met  with  him  ?     Send  thy  man  away.  19 

Nurse.     Peter,  stay  at  the  gate.  \_Exit  Peter. 

jful.     Now,  good  sweet  nurse, — O  Lord,  why  look'st  thou  sad? 
Though  news  be  sad,  yet  tell  them  merrily; 
If  cjood,  thou  sham'st  the  music  of  sweet  news 
By  playing  it  to  me  with  so  sour  a  face. 

Nurse.     I  am  a-weary ;  give  me  leave  awhile.  25 

Fie,  how  my  bones  ache  !  what  a  jaunt  have  I  had ! 

Jul.     I  would  thou  hadst  my  bones  and  I  thy  news. 
Nay,  come,  I  pray  thee,  speak ;  good,  good  nurse,  speak. 

Enter   Nurse,   with    Peter.]    Theob.  22.      Though  news']  Though  /'  newt 

Enter  Nurse.  QqFf.     After  she  comes/  Allen  conj.  MS. 

Dyce,  Clarke.  23.     sham^sil  shamest  Q^Q,. 

18.     0  God]  0 good  1o\in'!,.    O  ^no-af  23.    give  me  leave]  let  vie  rest  (Q^) 

Cham.  Pope,  &c. 

20.  [Exit...]  Theob.    cm.  QqFf.  26.     jaunt]  jaunce  Q^Q  ,  Cambr. 

21.  Two  lines  in  Ff.  had]  om.  Q^. 

look'st]    lookest    QjQjFj.     lookes  28.    good,  good]  ^w^/  F^F^F^,  Pope, 

Fj.    looks  F  .  Han. 

Cambr.   Q^^  reads  here  : 

'M.     And  his  to  me,  but  old  folks,  many  fain  as  they  wer  detft, 
Vnwieldie,  slowe,  heauie,  and  pale  as  lead.' 

And  this  is  followed  with  slight  variations  of  spelling  by  Q  .  Q  and  Q,  omit  the 
M.,  as  do  Ff,  which  give  the  passage  thus : 

'  And  his  to  me,  but  old  folkes, 
Many  faine  as  they  were  dead, 
Vnwieldie,  slow,  heauy,  and  pale  as  lead.' 

Pope  omits  the  lines,  '  But  old  folks  ....  lead,'  thinking  probably  that  they  are  due 
to  interpolation,  a  supposition  which  the  unmeaning  'iW.'  in  the  earlier  Quartos  seems 
to  confirm. 

26.  ache]  S.  Walker.  {'Vers.^  ^p-  ^'7)-  Ache,  Aches  (the  noun  substantive), 
are  pronounced  Aitch,  Aitches.  Examples  are  familiar.  See  particularly  Much 
Ado,  &.C.,  III,  iv,  with  the  var.  notes,  vol.  vii,  p.  99.  Was  it  not  also  pronounced 
atch  ?  (Compare  bake  and  batch,  &c.)  Was  the  word  pronounced  both  ways?  I 
believe  that  the  verb  was  uniformly  ake.  It  is  at  least  frequently,  if  not  always,  so 
printed ;  and  in  some  places  the  pronunciation  is  established  by  the  metre  or  other- 
wise. Instances  of  the  spelling  ake  in  the  Folio. — Rom.  and  Jul.  [the  present  line, 
and  line  47]  ;  Coriolanus,  III,  i,  108,  also  II,  ii,  152;  Timon,  III,  v,  96:  Tempest, 
III,  iii,  2.  [For  proofs  drawn  from  the  metre  and  from  plays  on  words  from  Jthei 
poets,  vide  ad  loc.  p.  119.]   Ed. 

26.  had]  MoMMSEN.  If  the  Nurse's  speech  be  disjointed,  the  omission  of  this 
word  by  Q^  is  noteworthy. 

13  K 


146 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  II,  sc.  V 


Nurse.     Jesu,  what  haste?  can  you  not  stay  awhile? 
Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  out  of  breath  ?  30 

Jul:    How  art  thou  out  of  breath,  when  thou  hast  breath 
To  say  to  me  that  thou  art  out  of  breath  ? 
The  excuse  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay 
Is  longer  than  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 

Is  thy  news  good,  or  bad?  answer  to  that;  35 

Say  either,  and  I'll  stay  the  circumstance ; 
Let  me  be  satisfied,  is't  good  or  bad  ? 

iVurse.  Well,  you  have  made  a  simple  choice ;  you  know  not 
how  to  choose  a  man.  Romeo  !  no,  not  he  ;  though  his  face  be 
better  than  any  man's,  yet  his  leg  excels  all  men's ;  and  for  a 
hand,  and  a  foot,  and  a  body,  though  they  be  not  to  be  talked 
on,  yet  they  are  past  compare ;  he  is  not  the  flower  of  courtesy, 
but,  I'll  warrant  him,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  Go  thy  ways,  wench ; 
serve  God.     What,  have  you  dined  at  home  ? 

y^/.     No,  no  ;  but  all  this  did  I  know  before.  45 

What  says  he  of  our  marriage  ?  what  of  that  ? 

Nurse.     Lord,  how  my  head  aches  !  what  a  head  have  I ! 
It  beats  as  it  would  fall  in  twenty  pieces. 
My  back  o'  t'  other  side, — O,  my  back,  my  back ! 
Beshrew  your  heart  for  sending  me  about,  50 

To  catch  my  death  with  jaunting  up  and  down ! 

Ju/.     V  faith,  I  am  sorry  that  thou  art  not  well. 


29.  y«"]  om.  Johns.  Cham. 
29-34.     yesu....excuse'\  Give  vie  some 

Aqua  Vila.  Pope,  from  (Q,),  Han. 

30.  that\  om.  Fj.    hmu  F^F^,  Rowe. 
32.     me  t/iat"]   Sing.  (ed.  2),   Dyce, 

White,  Cambr.   Ktly.     me,  that  QqFf, 
Huds.    me — that  Capell  et  cet. 

35.     Is']  Jul.  Is  Pope,  Han. 

3S-44.     As  verse  by  Capell. 

40.  better  than  any']   no  better  than 
another  Warb. 

leg    excels]    legs   excels    F^F^F . 
legs  excell  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

41.  a   bodyi]    body  Q.Q,-     a    bawdy 
FjF  F^.    a  Baw-dy  Rowe.   a  bo-dy  Pope, 


Theob. 

43-     ril]  I  F^FjF^,  Rowe,  &c. 

getttle  as  a]  gentle  a  Ff,  Rowe. 

44.  dined]  dined,  Allen  conj.  MS. 

45.  this]  this  this  F,. 

49.  My  bach. ..side]  My  back!  o"  /' 
other  side  Coll.  Ulr.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Hud& 
White,  Clarke.  Hal.  Ktly. 

0'  t'  other]  a  tother  QqFf. 
0]    F,F3F^.     a  Q^q^q^.     0  F,. 
ah  q  ,  Cambr. 

5 1 .  Jaunting]  jouncing  Cambr.  Irr'^ 

52.  not  7vell]  so  well  F,.  so  ill  J, 
FjF^,  Rowe,  &c. 


42.  flower]   Hunter.    The  apparent  want  of  coherence  between  '  the  flower  of 
courtesy'  and  'as  gentle  as  a  lamb'  is  not  to  be  charged  to  the  Nurse's  want  of  proper 
concatenation  in  her  stock  of  ideas,  the  name  of  one  of  the  flowers,  the  FUruK 
Gentle,  being  in  her  mind 


ACT  II,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 47 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  nurse,  tell  me,  what  says  my  love? 

Nurse.     Your  love  says,  like  an  honest  gentleman. 
And  a  courteous,  and  a  kind,  and  a  handsome,  55 

And,  I  warrant,  a  virtuous, — Where  is  your  mother  ? 

yul.     Where  is  my  mother !  why,  she  is  within  ; 
Where  should  she  be  ?     How  oddly  thou  repliest ! 
'Your  love  says,  like  an  honest  gentleman, 
Where  is  your  mother  ?' 

Nurse.  O  God's  lady  dear !  60 

Are  you  so  hot  ?  marry,  come  up,  I  trow ; 
Is  this  the  poultice  for  my  aching  bones  ? 
Henceforward  do  your  messages  yourself. 

Jul.     Here's  such  a  coil! — come,  what  says  Romeo? 

Nurse.     Have  you  got  leave  to  go  to  shrift  to-day  ?  65 

Jul.     I  have. 

Nurse.     Then  hie  you  hence  to  Friar  Laurence'  cell ; 
There  stays  a  husband  to  make  you  a  wife. 
Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  up  in  your  cheeks. 
They'll  be  in  scarlet  straight  at  any  news,  70 

54-56.     Your. .. mother  ?^(^Q^i.     Ca-  60.    your  mother']  my  mother  Y ^ ^  , 

pell  ends  second  line  at  warrant:  Steev.  Rowe. 

at   handsome,  and.      Prose   by  Cambr.  0...dear!'\  om.  Johns.     O...hot? 

(S.  Walker  conj.).  om.  Cham. 

57,58.     As  in  Rowe.   Two  lines,  the  70.      They' II. ..any]  They' II  be  in  scar- 

first   ending  be?   Qq.      Three,   ending  let  straitway  at  my  Han.  Coll.  (MS.) 

mother?. ..be?. ..repliest,  Ff.  Ulr. 

54.  Your  love  says,  &c.]  Dyce.  Is  this  speech  slightly  corrupted  ?  or  ought  it 
to  be  printed  as  prose?     [  Vide  S.  Walker  {'Crit.,'  vol.  i,  p.  21).]  Ed. 

Ulr.  The  loquacity  of  the  Nurse,  her  praise  of  Romeo's  looks,  her  hesitation  in 
delivering  his  message,  all  are  features  to  be  found  in  Arthur  Brooke's  poem.  The 
very  answer  which  Romeo  gives  the  Nurse  in  the  preceding  scene — '  she  shall  be 
ihrii/d  and  married' — is  word  for  word  in  Brooke.  The  latter  also  expressly  states 
that  Romeo  had  given  gold  to  the  Nurse. 

64.  coil]  Nares.    Noise,  tumult,  difficulty.     Of  very  uncertain  derivation. 

Dyce.  Bustle,  stir,  tumult,  turmoil. 

Clarke.  Sh.  sometimes  uses  it  to  express  what  is  signified  in  modem  parlance  by 
•  fuss,'  '  to-do.' 

70.  They'll  ....  news]  Coll.  \^ Notes  and  Emend.'].  It  was  not '  at  any  news" 
that  Juliet's  cheeks  would  be  in  scarlet,  but  at  the  particular  and  joyful  tidings 
brought  by  the  Nurse. 

Ulr.  The  old  reading  yields  no  sense,  and  has  been  left  unmolested  by  the  edd. 
only  because  it  is  the  Nurse  who  speaks.  The  correction  of  Collier's  (MS.),  al 
tliough  it  departs  widely  from  the  text,  I  unhesitatingly  adopt. 

Coll.  (eo.  2).    We  do  not  fe«l  warranted  in  varying  here  from  the  ordinary  text. 


148  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  [act  11.  sc.  vi 

Hie  you  to  church ;  I  must  another  way, 

To  fetch  a  ladder,  by  the  which  your  love 

Must  climb  a  bird's  nest  soon  when  it  is  dark ; 

I  am  the  drudge,  and  toil  in  your  delight ; 

But  you  shall  bear  the  burthen  soon  at  night.  75 

Go;  I'll  to  dinner;  hie  you  to  the  cell. 

jful.     Hie  to  high  fortune ! — Honest  nurse,  farewell.     \_Exeunt. 


Scene  VI.     Friar  Laurence's  cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

Fri.  L.     So  smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act 
That  after-hours  with  sorrow  chide  us  not ! 

73.     climbl  dimde  QjF^.  Friar  Laurence's  cell.]  Capell.    The 

Scene  vi.]  Han.     Scene  vn.  RowE.        Monastery.  Rowe,  &c. 
Act  III.  Scene  hi.  Capell.  2.     after-hours]  Hyphen,  Pope. 

although  the  emendation  of  the  (MS.)  has  some  plausibility.  The  question  is, 
whether  the  Nurse  means  to  make  an  allusion  to  Juliet's  general  habit  of  blushing 
'  at  any  news,'  or  whether  she  alludes  to  the  scarlet  that  must  be  called  up  into  the 
cheeks  of  the  heroine  by  the  particular  intelligence  she  is  to  communicate.  We 
think  the  former,  because  the  Nurse  has  already  told  the  most  important  and  inter 
esting  part  of  her  information. 

White.   The  old  text  has  an  appropriate  meaning  and  must  stand. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Walker  {'CritJ  vol.  ii,  p.  255)  would  read  'straight  at  my  next 
news.^  But  according  to  Capell  the  original  text  is  right :  '  at  such  talk  (of  love  and 
Romeo),  any  talk  of  that  kind,  says  the  speaker,  'tis  their  custom  to  put  on  "  scar- 
let." ' — Notes,  &c.,  vol.  ii,  P.  iv,  p.  12. 

Ktly.  In  the  errata  of  a  work  printed  in  1754  I  met  'for  my  r.  any.'  I,  how- 
ever, read  in  preference,  '  They  will  be  straight  in  scarlet  at  my  news.' 

Sc.  VL]  Steev.  This  was  entirely  new-formed  after  the  first  copy.  [Sing.  Knt. 
Coll.  Huds. 

White  {'Introd.'  p.  22).  The  traces  of  another  hand  than  Sh.'s  that  have  attracted 
my  attention  in  (Q,)  are  not  many,  but  they  seem  to  me  unmistakable.  The  first  that 
I  noticed  is  this  entire  Scene.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  variations  in  (QJ  from 
the  later  version  are  of  the  most  material  nature ;  or  rather  that  the  whole  Scene 
was  rewritten,  and  but  a  few  lines  of  the  earlier  version  was  retained.  The  change 
made  upon  the  revision  was  not  in  all  respects  for  the  better.  In  the  Friar's  second 
speech  the  line,  '  So  light  a  foot  ne'er  hurts  the  trodden  flower,'  contains  a  daintier 
and  more  graceful,  and  therefore  it  would  seem,  a  more  appropriate,  figure  than, 
'  so  light  a  foot  Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint,'  although  the  three  lines 
that  follow  these  last  have  a  fancy  and  a  rhythm  peculiarly  Shakspearian;  and 
again,  in  jfttliel^s  reply,  '  I  am,  if  I  be  day.  Come  to  my  sun  :  shine  forth,  and  make 
aoe  fair,'  has  a  touch  of  poetry  more  exquisite  and  more  dramatic  than  is  to  be  found 
.□  the  rewritten  scene,  which,  unmistakably  Sh.'s,  is  not  Sh.'s  best.     Of  the  rn- 


*CT  II,  sc.  VI.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  1 49 

Rom.     Amen,  amen  !  but  come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy 

That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight.  5 

Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 
Then  love-devouring  death  do  what  he  dare. 
It  is  enough  I  may  but  call  her  mine. 

Fii.  L.     These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends 
And  in  their  triumph  die,  like  fire  and  powder  10 

Which  as  they  kiss  consume.     The  sweetest  honey 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness 
And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  appetite. 
Therefore,  love  moderately;  long  love  doth  so; 
Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as  too  slow.  15 

7.  love-devouring]  om.  Hyphen,  F^  II.     kiss]  meet  Pope,  &c. 

F  .  12.     loathsome']  lothsomnesse  Q.Q,. 

what  he]    what  thou    Seymour  his]  its  Rowe  (ed.  2)*,  &c. 

:onj.  15.     [Enter    Juliet]    After  line    20, 

8.  mough  I]  inough.    I  F^F^F^.  Dyce,  WTaite,  Cham.  Clarke. 
10.     triumph  die,]  triumph:  die  Fj. 


mainder,  lines  1026-1033,  1044,  1045,  1050,  1051  of  (Q,)  will,  I  think,  hardly  be 
attributed  to  Sh.  at  any  period  of  his  career,  by  readers  of  discrimination,  who  are 
well  acquainted  with  his  works  and  those  of  his  elder  contemporaries.  They  are 
too  tame,  feeble,  and  formal,  both  in  rhythm  and  sense,  to  have  ever  been  written  by 
him  for  the  stage. 

6.  Do  thou  but]  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Rem.''  vol.  ii,  p.  155).  The  precipitancy, 
which  is  the  character  of  the  play,  is  well  marked  in  this  short  scene  of  waiting  for 
Juliet's  arrival. 

9.  These  violent]  Mal.  So,  in  The  Rape  of  Lucrece,  894:  'These  violent 
vanities  can  never  last.'     \_Sing. 

9.  violent  ends]  Walker  ('  Vers.,^  Sec,  p.  138)  cites  this  line  as  an  instance  of 
the  pronunciation  of  the  same  word  in  the  same  line  at  one  time  as  a  trisyllable  and 
at  another  as  a  dissyllable. 

14.  love  moderately]  Vischer  {'Aesthetic,  oder  Wissenschaft  des  Schonen^  1857, 
«rol.  iii,  p.  1 124).  In  the  view  of  Gervinus,  who  traces  the  tragical  end  throughout 
to  the  excess  of  violent  passion,  there  is  a  species  of  tragedy  which  does  not  merely 
illustrate  character,  but  which  contains  no  truth  of  universal  interest  beyond  the 
lesson  that  teaches  the  duty  of  moderation,  a  lesson  which,  as  an  abstract  proposition 
of  morality,  can  never  be  the  basis  of  any  great  poetic  work.  Accordingly,  Gervinus 
preaches  moderation  to  Romeo — very  properly,  doubtless  ;  Friar  Lawrence  does  so 
too.  But  had  Romeo  minded  the  lesson,  there  would  have  been  no  impassioned 
youth,  nor  would  Love  have  been  represented  in  the  Drama  in  all  its  power,  its  infin- 
itude. At  another  time  one  may  bethink  himself  that  there  are  other  things  besides 
Love  in  the  world, — reflection,  duty, — but  here  and  now  the  divinity  of  Love  is  the 
thing;  this  it  is  that  is  to  be  represented,  an  ideal  passion.  Even  here  there  is, 
13* 


I  qo  ROMEO   AND   JILIET.  fACT  n,  sc.  vi 

Enter  JULIET. 

Here  comes  the  lady,     O,  so  light  a  foot  1 6 

Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint. 
A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamer 
That  idles  in  the  wanton  summer  air, 

18,19.    gossamer.. . {dies']  gossamour...  gossamonrs....uile  UloX.    gossamer:. ..iJh 

idles    F^,    Rowe,   &c.   Capell.      gossa-  Var.  Knt.  (ed.  i).  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sing. 

mours,...ydeles  Q^.     gossamours,....ydles  Huds.  Hal.  Ktly. 
QjF,F,.        gossamours. ...idles     Q^QjF^.  20.    fall ;  so\  full  so  Eng.  Par.* 

besides  this  passion,  the  world  without,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  the  lover,  doubtless,  duly 
to  consider  it.  It  is  wrong,  and  not  wrong,  in  Romeo,  that,  in  the  impetuosity  of 
his  passion,  he  forgets  it.     It  is  in  this  twilight  that  tragedy  has  place. 

15.  Too  swift,  &c.]  Johns.  He  that  travels  too  fast  is  as  long  before  he  comes 
to  the  end  of  his  journey  as  he  that  travels  slow.  Precipitation  produces  mishap. 
{.Sing, 

Rann.  By  means  of  lets  coming  in  the  way — *  The  more  haste,  the  worse  speed.' 

16,  17.  light  .  .  ,  flint]  Steev.  This  violent  hyjierbole  appears  to  me  not  only 
more  reprehensible,  but  even  less  beautiful  than  the  lines  as  they  were  originally 
written,  where  the  lightness  of  Juliet's  motion  is  accounted  for  from  the  cheerful 
effects  the  passion  of  love  produced  in  her  mind.     {Sing.  Huds. 

16.  so  light  a  foot]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  Singer,  following  Steevens  in  this  extract, 
and  not  having  referred  to  (Q,),  misquotes  it  in  an  accidentally  material  point,  since 
a  comparison  shows  that  '  so  light  a  foot,'  as  it  stands  in  QqFf,  had  been  misheard 
by  the  person  who  put  together  (QJ  (from  shorthand  or  other  notes),  'so  light  of 
foot.'  Such  was  extremely  likely  to  be  the  case.  On  any  other  account  the  vari- 
ance is  unimportant. 

18.  gossamer]  Steev.  The  long  white  filament  which  flies  in  the  air  in  summei. 
{Dyce.]     In  Hannibal  and  Scipio,  1637,  by  Nabbes: 

'  Fine  as  Arachne's  web,  or  gossamer  [' £^i>sshemere.'   Narks], 
Whose  curls,  when  garnished  by  their  dressing,  shew 
Like  that  sfiun  ['  thinne.''   Narks]  vapour  when  'tis  pearl'd  with  dew?' 

Mal.  See  Eullokar's  English  Expositor,  1616:  ^Gossomor:  Things  that  flye  like 
cobwebs  in  the  ayre.' 

Nares.  From  the  French,  gossampine,  the  cotton  tree,  which  is  from  gossipium, 
properly,  therefore,  cotton  wool.  Also  any  light  downy  matter,  such  as  the  flying 
seeds  of  thistles  and  other  plants.  Now  used  not  unfrequently  to  signify  the  long, 
floating  cobwebs  seen  in  fine  weather  in  the  air. 

Molt  White.  It  is  formed  from  the  collected  webs  of  flying  spiders,  and  iuring 
calm  weather  in  autumn,  sometimes  falls  in  amazing  quantities.     {Sing. 

Sing.  [Note  on  Lear,  IV,  vi,  49].  Some  think  it  the  down  of  plants;  others  the 
xapour  arising  from  boggy  or  marshy  ground  in  warm  weather.  The  etymon  of  this 
word,  which  has  puzzled  the  lexicographers,  is  said  to  be  summer  goose  or  summer 
^auze ;  hence  'gauze  o'  the  summer,'  its  well-known  name  in  the  north.  See  Hora 
Momenta  Cravence,  or  the  Craver  Dialect  Exemplified,  1 824,  8vo,  p.  79. 


4CT  11,  sc.  vi.J  ROMEO   AND  JULIET.  15I 

And  yet  not  fall ;  so  light  is  vanity.  2C 

Jul.     Good  even  to  my  ghostly  confessor. 

Fri.  L.     Romeo  shall  thank  thee,  daughter,  for  us  both. 

Jill.     As  much  to  him,  else  is  his  thanks  too  much. 

Rom.     Ah,  Juliet,  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
Be  heap'd  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more  25 

To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbour  air,  and  let  rich  music's  tongue 
Unfold  the  imagined  happiness  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  this  dear  encounter. 

jful.     Conceit,  more  rich  in  matter  than  in  words,  30 

Brags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament : 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth  ; 

21.     [Embraceth  the  Friar.]    Allen  FjFj,Q  F^.     else  are  Rowe,  &c.,  Var.  et 

conj.  MS.  cet. 

23.     else   is'\    Q,Q,F^,    Capell,    Del.  23.     [Embraceth  Romeo.]  Allen  conj. 

Dyce,  Sta.  White,  Cambr.     else  in  Q  MS.  from  (Q,). 

20.  vanity]  Clarke.  Here  used  for  'trivial  pursuit,'  'vain  delight.'  The  word 
was  much  employed  in  this  sense  by  divines  in  Sh.'s  time;  and  with  much  propriety 
is  so  put  into  the  good  old  Friar's  mouth. 

23.  else  is]  Clarke.  Though  '  thanks'  was  sometimes  treated  as  a  noun  singu- 
lar, we  do  not  believe  that  Sh.'s  ear  would  have  allowed  him  to  write  ^As  much  to 
him,  else  is  his  thanks  too  much.' 

30.  conceit]  Mal.  It  here  means  imagination.  \_Sing.'\  So  in  The  Rape  of 
Lucrece  :  ' which  the  conceited  painter  drew,'  &c.     \_Sta, 

Craik  \^Eng.  of  Sh.^  p.  135].  To  conceit  is  another  form  of  our  still  familiar  to 
conceive.  And  the  noun  conceit,  which  survives  with  a  limited  meaning  (the  con- 
ception of  a  man  by  himself,  which  is  so  apt  to  be  one  of  over-estimation),  is  also 
frequent  in  Sh.  with  the  sense,  nearly,  of  what  we  now  call  conception,  in  general. 
Sometimes  it  is  used  in  a  sense  which  might  almost  be  said  to  be  the  opposite  of 
what  it  now  means ;  as  when  Juliet  [in  this  passage]  employs  it  as  the  term  to  denote 
her  all-absorbing  affection  for  Romeo ;  or  as  when  Gratiano,  in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  i, 
90,  speaks  of  a  sort  of  men  who 

'  do  a  wilful  stillness  entertain, 
With  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit' — 

that  is,  deep  thought.  So,  again,  .vhen  Rosaline,  in  Love's  Lab.,  II,  i,  72,  speaking  of 
Biron,  describes  his  '  fair  tongue'  as  '  conceit's  expositor,'  all  that  she  means  is,  that 
speech  is  the  expounder  of  thought.  The  scriptural  expression,  still  in  familiar  use, 
'  wise  in  his  own  conceit,'  means  merely  wise  in  his  own  thought,  or  in  his  own  eyes, 
as  we  are  told  in  the  margin  the  Hebrew  literally  signifies.  In  the  New  Testament, 
where  we  have  '  in  their  own  conceits,'  the  Greek  is  simply  Trap'  iavrbit,  (in  or  with 
themselves). 

32.  beggars]  Steev.  In  Ant.  and  Cleo.,  I,  i,  15  :  'There's  beggary  in  the  Icve 
that  can  be  reckoned.'     \_Sing. 


152  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  in,  sc.  i, 

But  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 
I  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth. 

Fri.  L,     Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  make  short  work ; 
For,  by  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone  36 

Till  holy  church  incorporate  two  in  one.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I.     A  p7iblic  place. 

Enter  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  Page,  and  Servants, 

Ben.     I  pray  thee,  good  Mercutio,  let's  retire : 
The  day  is  hot,  the  Capulets  abroad. 
And,  if  we  meet,  we  shall  not  'scape  a  brawl ; 
For  now  these  hot  days  is  the  mad  blood  stirring.  4 

Mer.  Thou  art  like  one  of  those  fellows  that  when  he  enters 
the  confines  of  a  tavern  claps  me  his  sword  upon  the  table,  and 
says  '  God  send  me  no  need  of  thee !'  and  by  the  operation  of 

34.     5um...my'\  Capell.    sum  up  sum  A  public  place.]  Capell.     The  street. 

of  half  my  Q^Q  ,  Sta.  Cambr.     summe  Rowe,  &c. 

up   some  of  halfe   my  Q^Q-.     sum   up  Enter....]    Capell.      Enter   Mercutio, 

some  of  halfe  my  Ff.    sum  up  some  half  Benvolio,  and  men.  QqFf. 

of  my  Rowe.     sum  up  one  half  of  my  2.      Capulets'\  Capels  QgQ,. 

Pope,  &c.      sum  up  sums  of  half  my  3.     And,   if  J    An    if   Del.    and    S. 

Johns,     sum  the  sum  of  half  my  Anon.  Walker  conj. 

conj.  ap.  Rann,  Coll.  (MS.)  3,  4.     As  in  Rowe.    Prose,  QqFf. 

Act  III.  Scene  i.]  Rowe.   om.  QqFf.  5.     those]  F^.     these  QqF.F^F^,  Sta. 

Act  III.  Scene  iv.  Capell.  7,  8.     of  the]  of  a  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

34.  sum  up  half]  Sta.  The  meaning  seems  plain  enough, — '  I  cannot  sum  up 
tho  sum  or  total  of  half  my  wealth.* 

2.  The  day  is  hot]  Johnson.  It  is  observed  that,  in  Italy,  almost  all  assassina- 
tions are  committed  during  the  heat  of  summer.     \^Sing.  Corn.  Verp.  Hal. 

Reed.  In  Sir  Thomas  Smith's  Commonwealth  of  England,  1583,  b.  ii,  c.  xix, 
p.  70 :  '  And  commonly  every  yeere  or  each  second  yeere  in  the  beginning  of  som- 
mcr  or  afterwards  (_/or  in  the  warme  time  people  for  the  most  part  be  more  unruly), 
even  in  the  calm  time  of  peace,  the  prince  with  his  counsell,'  &c.,  &c.  \_Sing. 
H.il.  Clarke. 

3.  And,  if]  Walker  {'Crit.^  vol.  ii,p.  153),  And  if  [Read  an  if.  Ed.]  is  always, 
in  the  ol  i  plays,  printed  and  if;  indeed,  an  is  uniformly  written  and,  except  in  the 
form  an    'were,  which  is,  J  think,  made  one  word.     [Foot-note  by  Lettsom.     Not 


<icr  III,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  153 

the  second  cup  draws  it  on  the  drawer,  when  indeed  there  is  no 
need. 

Ben.     Am  I  Hke  such  a  fellow  ?  lO 

Mer.  Come,  come,  thou  art  as  hot  a  Jack  in  thy  mood  as  any 
in  Italy,  and  as  soon  moved  to  be  moody  and  as  soon  moody  to 
be  moved, 

Ben.     And  what  to  ?  14 

Mer.  Nay,  an  there  were  two  such,  we  should  have  none 
shortly,  for  one  would  kill  the  other.  Thou !  why,  thou  wilt 
quarrel  with  a  man  that  hath  a  hair  more,  or  a  hair  less,  in  his 
beard  than  thou  hast.  Thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  for  crack- 
ing nuts,  having  no  other  reason  but  because  thou  hast  hazel 
eyes ;  what  eye,  but  such  an  eye,  would  spy  out  such  a  quarrel  ? 
thy  head  is  as  full  of  quarrels  as  an  ^gg  is  full  of  meat,  and 
yet  thy  head  hath  been  beaten  as  addle  as  an  ^^^  for  quarrelling. 
Thou  hast  quarrelled  with  a  man  for  coughing  in  the  street, 
because  he  hath  wakened  thy  dog  that  hath  lain  asleep  in  the 
sun.  Didst  thou  not  fall  out  with  a  tailor  for  wearing  his  new 
doublet  before  Easter?  with  another,  for  tying  his  new  shoes 
with  old  riband  ?  and  yet  thou  wilt  tutor  me  from  quarrelling ! 

Ben.  An  I  were  so  apt  to  quarrel  as  thou  art,  any  man  should 
buy  the  fee-simple  of  my  life  for  an  hour  and  a  quarter. 

Mer.     The  fee-simple !     O  simple !  30 

8.     it\  (Q.)  Pope,    him  QqFf,  Rowe,  in  Errata). 

Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Sta.  White,  Hal.  27.     fromi  for  Q^,  Pope,  &c.  Capell, 

14.  to\  Pope,    too  QqFf,  Rowe,  Sta.  White. 

15.  an\  Pope,    and  QqFf,  Rowe.  28.     An\  Capell.    And  QqFf,  Rowe. 
20.     ivould'\  could  Capell  (corrected  If  Pope,  &c. 

uniformly.  The  folio,  Midsum.  N.  D.,  I,  ii,  p.  147,  col.  2,  has  'and  'twere  any 
Nightingale;'  and  so  in  i  Hen.  IV:  II,  i  and  ii,  p.  53,  col.  i,  and  p.  54,  col.  I,  'And 
'twere  not  as  good  a  deede  as,'  &c.]  Many  of  the  errors  to  which  this  gave  rise  are, 
as  yet,  uncorrected. 

8.  draws  it]  Del.  Draws  is  a  neuter  verb,  and  kim,  of  QqFf,  is  the  pleonastic 
Dativus  ethicus. 

10.  Am  I]  Clarke.  The  quietness  of  this  retort,  with  the  slight  but  significant 
emphasis  which  we  imagine  thrown  upon  the  '/,'  admirably  gives  point  to  the  hu- 
morous effect  of  Mercutio's  lecturing  Benvolio — the  sedate  and  peace-making  Ben- 
volio,  and  lectured  by  Mercutio,  of  all  people ! — for  the  sin  of  quarrelsomeness. 

14.  what  to]  Sta.  And  what  too,  of  the  old  copies,  means  '  And  what  else  P  ct 
•  What  more  ?'     [Dyce. 

27.  tutor]  Mal.  Thou  wilt  endeavor  to  restrain  me,  by  prudential  advice,  from 
qu^lTell  ng.     \_Sing. 


154 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  III,  sr  L 


Enter  TybalT  and  others. 

Ben.     By  my  head,  here  come  the  Capulets. 

Mer.     By  my  heel,  I  care  not. 

Tyb.     Follow  me  close,  for  I  will  speak  to  them. — 
Gentlemen,  good  den  ;  a  word  with  one  of  you.  34 

Mer.  And  but  one  word  with  one  of  us  ?  couple  it  with  some- 
thing ;  make  it  a  word  and  a  blow. 

Tyb.  You  shall  find  me  apt  enough  to  that,  sir,  an  you  will 
give  me  occasion. 

Mer.     Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without  giving? 

Tyb.     Mercutio,  thou  consort'st  with  Romeo, —  40 

Mer.  Consort !  what,  dost  thou  make  us  minstrels  ?  an  thou 
make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear  nothing  but  discords ;  here's 
my  fiddlestick ;  here's  that  shall  make  you  dance.  'Zounds, 
consort ! 

Ben.     We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men.  45 


30.  Enter.,.]  Han.  Enter  Tybalt, 
Petruchio,  and  others.  QqFf.  Trans- 
ferred by  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sing.  (ed.  2), 
Huds.  White,  Hal.  Ktly.  to  follow  line 
3l;by  Dyce.Sta.  Clarke, tofollow line 32. 

31.  come  tke  Capulets']  comes  the 
Capulets  Q,Q3Q,F.. 

35.     us  /]  us,  Q,. 

37.  an']  Capell,  Knt.  Del.  Dyce,  Sta. 
Cambr.  and  QqFf,  Rowe.  if  Pope, 
&c.  Var.  et  cet. 

38.  uill]  shall  Qj. 


40.  consort'' st]    consortest    Qq,  Bos 
Sing.  Knt.  Com.  Haz.  Ktly. 

Romeo, — ]  Capell.  Romeo — 
Rowe,  &c.    Romeo.  QqF,F  F^.    Romeo, 

41.  an]    Capell.      and    QqFf.      if 
Pope,  &c. 

43.     ^Zounds,]  Zounds  Q<r\.    ComeYL 
Come,  Rowe.  Come .'  Johns. 

[Laying  his  Hand  on  his  Sword. 
Rowe.  Striking  his  hilts.  Coll.  (ed.  2) 
(MS.) 


2)Z-  Follow  me]  Mal.  I  strongly  suspect  this  line  and  the  stage-direction  of 
Qj  to  be  an  interpolation ;  for  would  Tybalt's  partisans  suffer  him  to  be  killed  with- 
out taking  part  in  the  affray  ?  That  they  do  not  join  in  it  appears  from  the  account 
^iven  by  Benvolio.     [Hal. 

Stf.ev.  Malone  forgets  that,  even  in  his  own  ed.,  Tybalt  is  not  killed  while  hii 
partisans  are  on  the  stage.  They  go  out  with  him  after  he  has  wounded  Mercutio; 
and  he  himself  re-enters,  unattended,  when  he  fights  with  Romeo,     [//a/. 

34.  Gentlemen,  good  den]  Walker  {'Vers.,'  p.  189).  Gentlemen  is  vtry 
cften  a  dissyllable.     [This  line  cited.] 

41.  Consort]  Sing.  To  comprehend  Mercutio's  captious  indignation  it  should  b« 
remembered  that  a  consort  was  the  old  term  for  a  set  or  coirpany  of  musicians, 
according  to  Bullokar  and  Phillips.     \^Huds.  Sta.  Dyce. 

Clarke.  Mercutio,  who  was  an  invited  guest  at  Capulet's  feast,  is  so  much  an 
intimate  of  that  family  that  one  of  its  members  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  call  him  to 
account  for  his  constant  association  with  the  son  to  the  head  of  the  rival  House. 

43.  'Zounds]  White.   '  Come'  of  F,  was  in  deference  to  the  Stat.  3  Jac.  I. 


ACT  III,  SC.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  155 

Either  withdraw  unto  some  private  place, 
Or  reason  coldly  of  your  grievances, 
Or  else  depart ;  here  all  eyes  gaze  on  us. 

Mer.     Men's  eyes  were  made  to  look,  and  let  them  gaze ; 
I  will  not  budge  for  no-man's  pleasure,  I.  50 

Enter  ROMEO. 

Tyb.     Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir ;  here  comes  my  man. 

Mcr.     But  I'll  be  hang'd,  sir,  if  he  wear  your  livery. 
Marry,  go  before  to  field,  he'll  be  your  follower; 
Your  worship  in  that  sense  may  call  him — man. 

Tyb.     Romeo,  the  hate  I  bear  thee  can  afford  55 

No  better  term  than  this, — thou  art  a  villain. 

Rovi.     Tybalt,  the  reason  that  I  have  to  love  thee 
Doth  much  excuse  the  appertaining  rage 

47.     Or\    And   Capell,  Dyce,    Coll.  54.     him — ;«a«]  Capell.      him  man 

(MS.),  Cham.  Clarke,  Ktly,  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Dyce,  White,  Cambr. 

50.     Enter   Romeo]    After   line   51,  55.     hate\    (Q,)    Pope,      love  QqFf, 

Dyce,  Cham.   Clarke.     After   line    54,  Theob.  &c.  Knt.  Com.  Del.  Sta.  Cambr. 

Sta.  57.     thai\  cm.  Capell. 

53.     before^  fint  Pope,  &c.  58.     excuse'\  exceed  Coll.  (MS.) 

47.  Or  reason]  Dyce.  A  mistake  occasioned  by  the 'Or*  which  commences  the 
next  line. 

White.  Benvolio  presents  a  triple  alternative :  either  to  withdraw  to  a  private 
place,  or  to  discuss  the  matter  quietly  where  they  were,  or  else  to  part  company;  and 
it  is  supremely  in  character  that  on  such  an  occasion  he  should  perceive  and  suggest 
all  these  methods  of  avoiding  public  scandal. 

Clarke.  It  is  more  likely  that  Benvolio  should  recommend  his  friends  to  retire 
and  talk  over  their  grievances  coolly,  tlian  that  he  should  offer  them  three  alter- 
natives. 

48.  depart]  Sta.  Or  else /ar^.  See  Love's  Lab.  L.,  II,  i :  'Which  we  much 
rather  had  depart  withal.' 

50.  I  will  ...  I]  Sta.  The  duplication  of  the  pronoun  is  a  construction  of  fr*^ 
quent  use  in  the  language  of  Sh.'s  time.     So  in  The  Tempest,  III,  iii : 

'  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  nstrument  this  lower  world 
And  what  is  in't)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caus'd  to  belch  up  you.' 

55.  the  love]  Del.  ('Z^jt.').  This  is  of  course  ironical.  Most  edd.  adopt  the 
much  feebler  reading  of  (Q,),  whereto  '^  can  afford^  does  not  exactly  apply  An 
offer  or  grant  of  love  can  be  expected,  but  not  of  hate. 

Ulr.  I  follow  (QJ  because  CoU.'s  (MS.)  has  'kate,^  and  because,  moreover, 
Tybalt  appears  to  be  too  wild  and  furious  to  avail  himself  of  ironical  expressions. 

58.  excuse]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  (MS.)  means  thai  the  love  Romeo  bears  Tybalt 
goes  far  beyond  the  rage  he  should  otherwise  have  felt  at  such  a  greeting. 


'56 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[ACT  111,  SC,  i 


To  such  a  greeting  :  villain  am  I  none  ; 

Therefore  farewell ;  I  see  thou  know'st  me  not  6o 

Tyb.     Boy,  this  shall  not  excuse  the  injuries 
That  thou  hast  done  me ;  therefore  turn  and  draw. 

Rovi.  I  do  protest,  I  never  injured  thee, 
But-  love  thee  better  than  thou  canst  devise, 
Till  thou  shalt  know  the  reason  of  my  love :  65 

And  so,  good  Capulet, — which  name  I  tender 
As  dearly  as  mine  own, — be  satisfied. 

Mer.     O  calm,  dishonourable,  vile  submission  ! 
A  la  stoccata  carries  it  away.  \_Drazvs. 

Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk  ?  70 

Tyb.     What  wouldst  thou  have  with  me  ? 

Mer.     Good  king  of  cats,  nothing  but  one  of  your  nine  lives. 


59.  am  /]  I  am  Q  ,  Pope,  &c.  om. 
FjFjF^,  Rowe. 

60.  know'' St  ]  knowest  Q^Q,. 
injuries']  iniures  F^. 
injured]  iniuried  Q^,  Momm. 
lave]  Icn'd  Ff,  Rowe. 

devise,]  devise:  QjQ^Q^F.F^F^. 
devise ;  F  ,  Rowe,  &c.     devise  Cambr. 

67.  mine]  Q^.  my  The  rest,  Rowe, 
&c.  Capell. 

69.  A  la  stoccata]  Capell.  Alia 
ttucatho  QqF,,  Pope.     Allastucatko  Y\ 


61. 

63. 
64. 


FjF^,  Rowe.  Ah  !  la  Stoccata  Theob. 
Warb.  Johns.  Ha !  la  stoccata  Han. 
Alia  stoccata  Knt.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr. 

carries  it  away.]  carry  it  away! 
Lettsom  conj. 

[Draws.]  Capell.    om.  QqFf. 

70.  you    rat-catcher^     You,    Rat- 
catcher, Rowe. 

will]  come,  will  Han. 

71.  wouldst]  QjQjF^.     woulds  The 
rest. 


58.  appertaining  rage  To]  Walker  {'Crit.,^  vol.  i,  p.  162)  [cites  this  as  a 
peculiar  construction  with  the  adjective]  ;  that  is,  rage  appertaining  to. 

63.  injured]  Mommsen.  The  old  and  especially  more  correct  form,  injuried 
(cf.  Nares,  ed.  Halliw.  s.  v),  is  to  be  preferred,  used  as  it  is  here  in  manifest  reference 
to  the  preceding  substantive,  and  with  a  thoroughly  denominative  application.  No 
one  seems  to  have  noticed  it;  all  adopt  the  more  common  form,  injured,  of  (Qj) 
and  Q  ,  or  rather  the  injur' d  of  F,.  In  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
the  old  form  had  already  vanished,  and  was  frequently  omitted  from  older  pieces  by 
the  printers.  Yet  it  is  found  undoubtedly  a  few  times  in  Lyly  (before  1 584),  Mar- 
lowe (before  1586),  and  Heywood  (before  1604).  See  Dyce  in  Marl.  I,  p.  19.  The 
latter  learned  commentator,  as  well  as  all  the  others,  failed  to  notice  it  in  this  passage, 
where  it  is  an  interesting  archaism. 

69.  A  la  stoccata]  Steev.  StocccUa  is  the  Italian  term  for  a  thrust  or  stab  with 
•I  rapier.     \^Sing.  Knt.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta. 

Ulr.  Mercutio  uses  la  stoccata  as  one  word,  and  places  before  it  the  indefinite 
article  a.  He  intends  to  say :  'Only  a  well-directed  thrust  carries  away  this  shame- 
ful submission.'     Schlegel's  translation  is  here  incorrect. 

Clarke.   Mercutio  jocosely  gives  this  term  as  a  title  for  Tybalt. 

72.  kinsc  of  cats]  Mal.   Allud'ng  to  his  name.     \^Sing.  Ulr,  Del.  Huds. 


dCT  III,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  157 

that  I  mean  to  make  bold  withal,  and,  as  you  shall  use  me  here- 
after, dry-beat  the  rest  of  the  eight.  Will  you  pluck  your  sword 
out  of  his  pilcher  by  the  ears  ?  make  haste,  lest  mine  be  about 
your  ears  ere  it  be  out.  j^ 

Tyb.     I  am  for  you.  [Dt-awing: 

Rom.     Gentle  Mercutio,  put  thy  rapier  up. 

Mcr.     Come,  sir,  your  passado.  \They  fight. 

73.  me  hereafter^  me,  hereafter  pitcher  Sing.  (ed.  2).  pilch,  sir,  Sta. 
Rowe,  conj. 

74.  dry-beat"]    Hyphen   by   Rowe.*  77.     [Drawing.]  Rowe.    om.  QqFf. 
(ed.  2  ?)  79.     [They  fight.]  Capell. 

75.  pilcher]     pilche    Warb.     Ktly. 

74.  dry-beat]  Clarke.  That  is,  severely  beat.  Dry  in  the  sense  of  *  hard,* 
'  severe,'  comes  indirectly  from  drien,  an  ancient  verb  for  endure  or  suffer,  and  the 
Scottish  and  old  English  verb  to  '  dree,'  which  has  the  same  meaning.  Lord  Bacon, 
and  Butler  in  his  '  Hudibras,'  use  the  word  in  this  sense.  Also  it  is  in  Com.  of  Err. 
II,  ii,  64. 

75.  pilcher]  Warb.  We  should  read  pilche,  which  signifies  a  cloak  or  coat  of 
skins,  meaning  the  scabbard.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

Steev.  This  explanation  is,  I  believe,  just.  Nash,  in  Pierce  Pennyless,  1595, 
speaks  of  a  carman  in  a  leather  pilche.  \^Sing.  (ed.  i),  Huds.  Clarke.]  Again,  in 
Decker's  Satiromastix,  1602  :  '  I'll  beat  five  pounds  out  of  his  leather /z'A-^.'  Again, 
Thou  hast  forgot  how  thou  ambled'st  in  a  leather  pilch,  by  a  play-waggon  in  the 
highway,  and  took'st  mad  Jeronimo's  part,  to  get  service  among  the  mimicks.'  It 
appears  from  this  passage  that  Ben  Jonson  acted  the  part  of  Hieronimo  in  the  Span- 
ish tragedy,  the  speech  being  addressed  to  Horace,  under  which  character  old  Ben 
is  ridiculed.     \_Hal. 

Nares.    a  scabbard  \_Knt.]  from  pylche,  a  skin-coat,  Saxon.     See  Skinner. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  There  has  been  a  vain  attempt  to  make  Pilcher  signify  a  leathern 
sheath,  because  a  Pilch  meant  a  leathern  coat  or  pelt.  It  is  quite  evident  that  in 
this  jocose,  bantering  speech  Mercutio  substitutes  Pitcher  for  Scabbard.  The  poet 
was  familiar  with  the  proverb  '  Pitchers  have  ears,'  of  which  he  has  twice  availed 
himself.  The  ears,  as  every  one  knows,  are  the  handles,  which  have  since  been 
called  the  lugs  ;  piiche-r  was  suggested  by  the  play  upon  the  word  ears,  which  is  here 
ased  for  hilts  in  the  plural,  according  to  the  usage  of  the  poet's  time.     [Sta. 

Sta.  a  pilch  was  the  name  for  some  outer  garment  made  of  leather  ['  Pierce  Pen- 
niless,' 1592,  cited],  and  the  word  might  be  applied  suitably  enough  for  the  leathern 
sheath  of  a  rapier.     Perhaps  we  should  read,  '  out  of  his  pilch,  sir,'  &c. 

Coll.  (si  2).  No  other  instance  has  been  adduced  of  the  use  of  this  word  in 
this  way  in  any  other  author.  [  Verp.  White.]  Very  likely  the  last  syllable  was 
accidentally  added  by  the  printer,  and  that  Mercutio  said,  '  Pluck  your  sword  out  of 
h\s  pilch:     {Ulr. 

Dyce,   a  scabbard,  a  sheath. 

Ktly.   I  think  the  right  word  is  pilche,  a  leathern  coat.     In  V,  i,  202,  the  sheatb 
of  a  dagger  is  termed  its  house. 
4 


158 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  III,  sc.  L 


Rom.     Draw,  Benvolio  ;  beat  down  their  weapons.  80 

Gentlemen,  for  shame,  forbear  this  outrage  ! 
Tybalt,  Mercutio,  the  prince  expressly  hath 
Forbid  this  bandying  in  Verona  streets. 

Hold,  Tybalt !  good  Mercutio  !  \Exewit  Tybalt  and  hh 

Partisans. 

Mcr.  I  am  hurt ; 

A.  plague  o'  both  your  houses  !  I  am  sped  :  85 

Is  he  gone,  and  hath  nothing? 

Ben.  What,  art  thou  hurt? 

Mer.     Ay,  ay,  a  scratch,  a  scratch  ;  marry,  'tis  enough. 
IVhere  is  my  page  ?     Go,  villain,  fetch  a  surgeon.        \Exit  Pagt. 

Rom.     Courage,  man  ;  the  hurt  cannot  be  much.  89 

Mer.  No,  'tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as  a  church- 
door  ;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill  serve.  Ask  for  me  to-morrow,  and 
you  shall  find  me  a  grave  man.     I  am  peppered,  I  warrant,  for 


80.  down  their  weapons']  their  wea- 
pons down  Allen  conj.  MS. 

80.  [draws  and  runs  between.  Ca 
pell. 

80-84.  Draw...good  Mercutio .']  Qq 
Ff.  Capell  ends  the  lines  ^f«iW/(7,*... 
ihame,... Mercutio,..  bandying. ...Mercu- 
tio. So  also  Var.  (Com.)  Coll.  Ulr. 
Huds.  White,  HpI.  Ktly. 

82.  [striving  to  part  them.  Capell. 

83.  Forbid  this]  Qj.  Forbid  Q^Q^ 
Qj.  Forbidden  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt. 
Com.  'IJel.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Dyce,  Sta. 
Clarke. 


83,84.  in.... Tybalt .']  Herein  Ve- 
rona : — Tybalt ; —  Seymour  conj. 

83.  Verona]   Verona's  Q  . 

84.  [Exeunt....]  Tibalt  vnder  Ro- 
meos  arme  thrusts  Mercutio,  in  and 
flyes.  (QJ  Ulr.  Away  Tybalt.  Qq.  Exit 
Tybalt.  Ff.  Tybalt  under  Romeo's  arm 
stabs  Mercutio  and  flies  with  his  follow- 
ers. Cambr. 

85.  d'  both  your]  Dyce,  Cham.  Hal. 
Cambr.  Knt.  (ed.  2).  a  both  Qq.  a 
both  the  F,.  of  both  the  F^F^ 
&c.    <?'  both  the  Capell,  Var.  et  cet 

88.     [Exit  Page.]  Capell.    om.  QqFf, 


F^FjF^,  Rowe, 


85.  your]  Dyce.  The  '  the'  [of  Ff  ]  being  evidently  an  error,  for  presently  after 
Mercutio  twice  exclaims,  ^A  plague  d  both  your  houses  >' 

White.  Possibly  y*^  was  mistaken  for  y«,  and  we  should  read  as  afterward,  '  vour 
uouses.' 

92.  grave  man]  Farmer.  This  jest  was  better  in  old  language  than  it  is  at 
present.  Lidgate  says,  in  his  elegy  upon  Chaucer :  '  My  master  Chaucer  i.uw  is 
grave, ^     \^Sing.  Hal. 

Steev.   We  meet  with  the  same  quibble  in  The  Revenger's  Tragedy,  1608,  where 

Vindice  dresses  up  a  lady's  shull  and  observes :   ' she  has  a  somewhat  grave 

look  with  her.'     [Sta.  Hal. 

Mal.  In  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  Description  of  a  Sexton,  Characters,  1616:  'At 
every  church-style  commonly  there's  an  ale-house ;  where  let  him  bee  found  never 
80  idl;-pated,  hee  is  still  a.  grave  drunkard.^     \^Sing.  Sta.  Hal. 

Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  II,  p.  156,  ed.  1836).  How  fine  an  effect  the  wit  and 
raillery  habitual  to  Me-cutio,  even  struggling  with  his  pain,  give  to  Romeo's  follow- 


ACT  ni,  sc.  i.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


159 


this  world. — A  plague  o'  both  your  houses  ! — 'Zounds,  a  dog,  a 
rat,  a  mouse,  a  cat,  to  scratch  a  man  to  death !  a  braggart,  a 
rogue,  a  villain,  that  fights  by  the  book  of  arithmetic ! — Why  the 
devil  came  you  between  us  ?     I  was  hurt  under  your  arm.        96 

Rom.     I  thought  all  for  the  best. 

Mer.     Help  me  into  some  house,  Benvolio, 
Or  I  shall  faint.     A  plague  o'  both  your  houses ! 
They  have  made  worms'  meat  of  me :  I  have  it,  lOO 

And  soundly  too  :  your  houses  !  [^Exaint  Mcractio  and 

Benvolio. 

Rom.     This  gentleman,  the  prince's  near  ally, 
My  very  friend,  hath  got  his  mortal  hurt 


93.     0'  both']   Capell.     a  both   QqF,. 

of  both  FjF  F  ,  Rowe,  &c.  on  both  Johns. 

'Zounds]    Qj.     sounds   Q^QjQ^. 

What  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Knt.  Com. 

Ulr. 

99.  0'  both]  F  .    a  both  The  rest,    on 
ioth  Johns. 

100,  loi.     /  have  it. ..houses]   Dyce, 
Cambr.  Ktly.    One  line  in  QqFf,  et  cet. 

100.     have  it]  ha't  Capell. 


loi.  soundly  too :]  Capell.  soundly 
too —  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  soundly,  to  Q^. 
soundly  to  Q^Q^F^Q  .  soundly  too  F^. 
soundly  too,  F^F^.  soundly  too.  Plague  o" 
Theob.  Warb.    Johns, 

[Exeunt....]  Ex.  Mer.  Ben.  Rowe. 
Exit.  QqFf.    Exeunt.  (QJ. 

102.  Scene  ii.  Pope,  Han.  Warb. 

103.  got  his]  got  this  Q^,  Momm. 
Cambr,    gott  his  Q  . 


ing  speech,  and  at  the  same  time  so  completely  justifying  his  passionate  revenge  on 
Tybalt ! 

Sta.  In  Italy  the  funeral  follows  close  upon  death ;  and  it  was  so  formerly  in 
England  too;  hence  poor  Mercutio's  quibble  \_Clarke],  and  the  fact  of  the  narcotic 
administered  to  Juliet  being  tempered  to  operate  only  '  two  and  forty  hours,'  are 
strictly  in  keeping  with  the  usages  of  the  period. 

Hallam  ['Lit.  of  Europe').  It  seems  to  have  been  necessary  to  keep  down  the 
other  characters  that  they  might  not  overpower  the  principal  one ;  and  though  we 
can  by  no  means  agree  with  Dryden,  that  if  Sh.  had  not  killed  Mercutio,  Mercutio 
would  have  killed  him,  there  might  have  been  some  danger  of  his  killing  Romeo. 
His  brilliant  vivacity  shows  the  softness  of  the  other  a  little  to  a  disadvantage. 
[  Verp. 

Verplanck.  Perhaps  Hallam  has  hit  upon  the  true  reason,  for  it  is  worthy  of 
^ote  that  the  death  of  Mercutio  is  wholly  the  Poet's  own  invention.  It  does  not 
tome  from  the  poem  or  novel,  where  there  is  merely  an  accidental  contest  between  the 
Capulets  and  Montagues,  whom  Romeo,  endeavoring  to  part,  is  assailed  by  Tybalt, 
tnd  kills  him  in  self-defence,  not  in  anger  for  the  murder  of  a  friend. 

loi.  your  houses]  CljVRKE.  The  ineffectual  attempt  to  repeat  his  former  sen- 
tence, *  A  plague  o'  both  your  houses !' — the  shadowy  fragment  of  the  one  phrase, 
'  your  houses !'  being  but  an  insubstantial  representation  of  the  other — serves  ex- 
quisitely to  indicate  the  faint  speech  of  the  dying  man,  and  poetically  to  image  hiu 
failing  powers. 

103.  got  his]  MoMMSEN.  The  universally  adopted  reading,  ^t?/ ^£f,  dates  merely 
from  a  misprint  in  Q^,  gott  his,  from  which  Q^  and  F,  made  got  kis. 


i6o 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act.  Ill,  SC.  k 


In  my  behalf;  my  reputation  stain'd 
With  Tybalt's  slander, — Tybalt,  that  an  hour 
Hath  been  my  cousin :  O  sweet  Juliet, 
Thy  beauty  hath  made  me  effeminate, 
And  in  my  temper  soften'd  valour's  steel ! 


105 


Re-enter  Benvolio. 

Ben.     O  Romeo,  Romeo,  brave  Mercutio's  dead ! 
That  gallant  spirit  hath  aspired  the  clouds, 
Which  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth. 

Roi7i.     This  day's  black  fate  on  more  days  doth  depend ; 
This  but  begins  the  woe  others  must  end. 


no 


Re-enter  Tybalt. 


Ben.     Here  comes  the  furious  Tybalt  back  again. 
Ro7n.     Alive,  in  triumph !  and  Mercutio  slain ! 


II 


104.  reputation'\  reputation's  S. 
Walker  conj.    (Lettsom  ap.  Dyce.) 

106.  cousin'\  kinsman  (Qj  Capell, 
Var.  (Com.)  Sing.  Dyce,  Qarke,  Cambr. 

108.  Re-enter...]  ...hastily.  Capell. 
Enter...  QqFf. 

1 1 2.  more'\  mo  QjQjF.FjFj-    ^oe  Q^. 
doth'\   doe  Fj.     do  F^.     does  F^, 

Rowe,  &c. 

113.  begins  the  vjoe'\  Q^,  Dyce  (ed. 
2),  Cambr.  begins,  the  wo  or  woe  Q^Qj 
Q^FjFjFj.      begins  the  woe,  F^,  Rowe, 


&c.  Capell,  et  cet.    begins  the  woe ;  Com. 

113.  Re-enter...]  Capell.  Enter... 
Ff.  om.  Qq.  Transferred  by  Dyce, 
WTiite,  Clarke  to  follow  line  117. 

115.  Alive,  in  triumph  f\  Dyce, 
from  (Q,),  Cambr.  He  gan  in  triumph 
Qa-  -^  S°'*^  "*  triumph  Q,Q^.  He  gon 
in  triumph,  F,Fj.  He  gone  in  triumph, 
QjFjF^,  Rowe,  Ulr,  Alive?  in  tri- 
umph ?  Pope,  &c.  Again  ?  in  tri- 
umph ?  Capell.  Alive  in  triumph  I  Sta. 
Alive  I  in  triumph  t  Var.  et  cet. 


no.  aspired]  Steev.    In  Greene's  Card  of  Fancy,  1608:  '  Her  haughty  mind  is 

too  lofty  for  me  to  aspire?     In  Chapman's  Ninth  Iliad  :  ' and  aspir'd  the  gods' 

eternal  seats.'  We  never  use  this  verb  at  present  without  some  particle,  as  to  and 
after.     \^Sing.  Sta. 

Mal.  So  also  Marlowe,  in  his  Tamburlaine,  1590:  'And  both  our  souls  aspire 
celestial  thrones.'     \_Sing.  Sta. 

Sta.  So  to  the  word  arrive  we  always  add  at,  unto,  or  in  ;  but  the  old  writers 
frequently  adopted  the  construction   in  the  text.      And  our  author,  3   Hen.  VI  • 

V,  iii,  8 :  ' those  powers  that  the  Queen  Hath  raised  in  Gallia  have  arriz/d  the 

coast.' 

White.  As  we  now  use  attain. 

112.  This  day's,  &c.]  Johns.  This  day's  unhappy  destiny  ^a«^j  over  the  diyt 
yet  to  come.     There  will  yet  be  more  mischief.     [Sing.  Huds. 

115.  triumph!]  Ulr.  It  seems  to  me  '  He  gone'  accords  much  better  with  th« 
following  •  in  triumph.' 


ACT  III,  SC.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  l6l 

Away  to  heaven,  respective  lenity, 

And  fire-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct  now ! — 

Now,  Tybalt,  take  the  '  villain'  back  again 

That  late  thou  gavost  me !  for  Mercutio's  soul 

Is  but  a  little  way  above  our  heads,  1 20 

Staying  for  thine  to  keep  him  company; 

Either  thou,  or  I,  or  both,  must  go  with  him. 

Tyb.     Thou,  wretched  boy,  that  didst  consort  him  here, 
Shalt  with  him  hence. 

Rom.  This  shall  determine  that.  \They  fight ; 

Tybalt  falls. 

Ben.     Romeo,  away,  be  gone !  125 

The  citizens  are  up,  and  Tybalt  slain : 
Stand  not  amazed  :  the  prince  will  doom  thee  death 
If  thou  art  taken.     Hence ! — be  gone ! — away ! 

Rom.    O,  I  am  fortune's  fool ! 

Ben.  Why  dost  thou  stay  ?  \_Exit 

Romeo. 

Enter  Citizens,  &c. 

First  Cit.     Which  way  ran  he  that  kill'd  Mercutio  ?  1 30 

Tybalt,  that  murderer,  which  way  ran  he  ? 

117.    /rf-^jd-a']  Pope  from  (Q,).  /^r  122.     .fftV/^d-r]  Cr  (Q,)  Pope,  &c. 

end  Q^.  fier  and  Q3.  fire  and  Q^F.F,  1 30.     Scene  III.  Pope,  Han.  Warb. 

Qj.    Fire,  and  FjF^,  Rowe.  Johns. 

116.  respective  lenity]  Mal.  Cool,  considerate  gentleness.    \^Sing.  Huds.  Dyce. 
S.  Walker,   {'Crit.,'  vol.  i,  p.  180),  cites  this  as  an  exception  under  his  'Art. 

xxviii.     Perspective,  directive,  Sec,  are  frequently  used  by  Sh.  and  his  contempora- 
ries, so  to  speak,  in  a  passive  sense.' 

117.  conduct]  Mal.   Fot  conductor,     losing.  Huds.  Sta. 

129.  fortune's  fool]  Johns.  I  am  alv?ays  running  in  the  way  of  evil  fortune 
like  the  Fool  in  the  play.     •  Thou  art  death's  fool,'  in  Meas.  for  Meas.     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Douce.  There  is  certainly  no  allusion  to  any  play.  Sh.  is  very  fond  of  alluding 
to  the  mockery  of  fortune.  Thus  vv^e  have,  '  Ye  fools  of  fortune.' — Tim.  of  Athens. 
'  I  am  the  natural  fool  of  fortune.' — Lear.  In  the  last  passage  a  pointed  allusion  is 
made  to  the  idiot  fool.  Sir  J.  Suckling  uses  the  same  expression  in  his  play  of  The 
Goblins;  and  Hamlet  speaks  of  '  the  fools  of  nature,'  precisely  in  the  same  sense. 
\_Sing.  Hal. 

Sing.  In  Julius  Csesar  the  expression  is,  '  He  is  but  fortune's  knave.'     \_Hal. 

Sta.  I  am  the  sport  of  fortune. 

Clarke.  It  has  reference  to  the  '  fool'  in  the  old  mysteries,  moralities,  or  dra- 
matic shows,  who  is  represented  as  the  perpetual  object  of  pursuit,  mockery,  and 
disaster. 

U*  L 


l62 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[ACT  III,  SC.  L 


Bc7i.     Then;  lies  that  Tybalt. 
First  Cit.  Up,  sir,  go  with  me ; 

I  charge  thee  in  the  prince's  name,  obey. 

Enter  Prince,  attended ;  Montague,  Capulet,  their  Wives,  and  others. 

Pnn.     Where  are  the  vile  beginners  of  this  fray? 

Ben.     O  noble  prince,  I  can  discover  all  135 

The  unlucky  manage  of  this  fatal  brawl. 
There  lies  the  man,  slain  by  young  Romeo, 
That  slew  thy  kinsman,  brave  Mercutio. 

La.  Cap.     Tybalt,  my  cousin  !     O  my  brother's  child  ! 
O  prince!     O  cousin  !  husband!     O,  the  blood  is  spilt  140 

Of  my  dear  kinsman ! — Prince,  as  thou  art  true, 
For  blood  of  ours,  shed  blood  of  Montague. 
O  cousin,  cousin ! 

Prin.     Benvolio,  who  began  this  bloody  fray  ? 

Ben.     Tybalt,  here  slain,  whom  Romeo's  hand  did  slay;      145 


132.  Up\  You  Coll.  (MS.) 

133.  name'\  names  F^. 

Enter...]  Capeli,  substantially.  Enter 
Prince,  olde  Montague,  Capulet,  their 
wives  and  all.  QqFf. 

134.  vile'Y  vild  Y^^. 

135.  all^  all :  ^Sifi,' 

140.  O  prince !... husband !  (?,]  O 
Prince,  0  Cozin,  husband,  O  QqFf. 
Unhappy  sight!  alas  Pope,  &c.  from 
(Qj).      Prince,    0 — cousin — husband — 


0 — Johns.  0  prince! — 0  husband ! — 
O,  Capeli  (corrected  to  O  cousin! — 
husband!  —  0,  in  Notes  and  MS.*) 
Dyce,  \Miite,  Clarke,  Ktly.  Unhappy 
sight!  ah  me,  Mai.,  from  (QJ,  Var. 
(Corn.) 

0,  the}  the  Knt.  Com. 

143.  O  cousin,  cousin .']  om.  Pope, 
&c.   (Johns.) 

144.  Benvoliol  om.  Coll.  (Ills.) 
bloody']  Qq.     om.  Ff,  Rowe,  &c. 


140.  O  prince  !  &c.]  Knt.  (ed.  2).  Some  modem  eds.  in  this  and  in  other 
passages  have  adopted  the  arbitrary  course  of  making  up  a  text  out  of  (Q,)  and  Q, 
without  regard  to  the  important  circumstance  that  this  later  edition  was  '  newly  cor- 
rected, augmented,  and  amended,' — and  that  the  folio,  in  nearly  every  essential  par- 
ticular, follows  it. 

140.  O  cousin!]  Dyce.  This  line  is  no  doubt  corrupted;  'cozin'  would  seen 
to  have  crept  into  it,  in  consequence  of  the  transcriber's  or  printer's  eye  having 
caught  that  word  just  above.     [  White. 

141.  as  thou  art  true]  Johns.   As  thou  art /««/  zxi^  upright.     \^Sing. 
Steev.  In  Rich.  Ill :  I,  i,  36,  '  And  if  King  Edward  be  as  true  and  juic'    [5»«f. 
145.  Tybalt  here  slain,  ic]    Bos.   In  this  speech  of  Benvolio's,  as  given  in 

(Q, ),the  reader  will  find,  I  apprehend,  both  in  the  rhythm  and  construction,  a  much 
greater  resemblance  to  the  style  of  some  of  Sh.'s  predecessors  than  to  his  owa. 
■■  White. 
White.   \^Introd.i  p.  27].    But  if  the  reader  v/ill  compare  this  speech  with  that 


ACT  III,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 63 

Romeo  that  spoke  him  fair,  bade  him  bethink 

How  nice  the  quarrel  was,  and  urged  withal 

Your  high  displeasure :  all  this,  uttered 

With  gentle  breath,  calm  look,  knees  humbly  bow'd, 

Could  not  take  truce  with  the  unruly  spleen  1 50 

Of  Tybalt  deaf  to  peace,  but  that  he  tilts 

With  piercing  steel  at  bold  Mercutio's  breast ; 

Who,  all  as  hot,  turns  deaily  point  to  point, 

And,  with  a  martial  scorn,  with  one  hand  beats 

Cold  death  aside,  and  with  the  other  sends  155 

It  back  to  Tybalt,  whose  dexterity 

Retorts  it :  Romeo  he  cries  aloud, 

'  Hold,  friends  !  friends,  part !'  and,  swifter  than  his  tongue, 

His  agile  arm  beats  down  their  fatal  points, 

And  'twixt  them  rushes  ;  underneath  whose  arm  160 

An  envious  thrust  from  Tybalt  hit  the  life 

Of  stout  Mercutio,  and  then  Tybalt  fled : 

But  by  and  by  comes  back  to  Romeo, 

Who  had  but  newly  entertain'd  revenge. 

And  to't  they  go  like  lightning :  for,  ere  I  165 

Could  draw  to  part  them,  was  stout  Tybalt  slain ; 

146.     bade]   Mai,      bad  Q^,    Capell. 
kid  The  rest,  Rowe,  &c.  Sta.  Cambr.  159.     agile\   agill  Q.Q..    aged  Q^Q, 


Ul 

r. 

159- 

agi/e] 

^gill  Q4Q5 

F. 

.    abU  F^F^V 

^,  Rowe. 

165. 

And] 

An  F,F  . 

to'tl  toote  Q^Qj. 

149.  bordd]  bowed  Qq. 

150.  take]  make  Capell  conj. 

151.  Tybalt]  Tybalts  F,.  to't]  toote  Q^Q^,    too't  Q^F,F, 
157.  it]  it  home  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.)         Q^. 

of  Qj,  I  think  that  he  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  but  another  of  those  passages 
already  alluded  to,  in  which  an  inferior  writer  attempted  to  supply  deficiencies  in  the 
report  of  the  genuine  speech.    At  least,  it  is  not  the  work  of  any  '  predecessor*  of  Sh 

147.  nice]  Johns.  How  slight,  how  unimportant,  how  petty.  So  in  V,  ii,  18. 
\^Sing.  Coll.  St  a. 

Sing.  (ed.  i).  It  here  means  silly,  trifling,  or  -wanton.  [In  note  on  Tam.  of 
Shr.,  Ill,  i,  80.]  Chaucer's  use  of  Nice  seems  to  point  at  the  old  Fr.  Nice,  Niais, 
silly,  weak,  simple,  which  sense  suits  the  passages  in  Rom.  and  Jul.  [Substantially, 
Knt.  Coll.  Huds. 

Sta.  It  here  signifies  not  delicate,  squeamish,  &c.,  as  in  some  other  instances  in 
these  plays,  but  trivial,  unimportant, 

152.  Mercutio's  breast]  Coleridge  ('ZiV.  Rem.^  vol.  ii,  p.  156).  This  small 
portion  of  untruth  in  Benvolio's  narrative  is  finely  conceived.     \_Huds. 

157.  Retorts  it]  Sing.  {'Sh.  Vindicated^  p.  232).  The  interpolation  of  the  word 
home  [by  Coll.  (MS.)]  is  an  unlicensed  liberty,  and  v.'ould  require  better  authority 
than  that  of  the  (MS.)  to  induce  us  to  admit  it  into  the  text. 


1 64  ROMEO   AND   JULIEl .  [act  iii,  sc.  i 

And,  as  he  fell,  did  Romeo  turn  and  fly ; 
This  is  the  truth,  or  let  Benvolio  die. 

La.  Cap.     He  is  a  kinsman  to  the  Montague, 
Affection  makes  him  false,  he  speaks  not  true:  170 

Some  twenty  of  them  fought  in  this  black  strife, 
And  all  those  twenty  could  but  kill  one  life. 
I  beg  for  justice,  which  thou,  prince,  must  give; 
Romeo  slew  Tybalt,  Romeo  must  not  live. 

Prifi.     Romeo  slew  him,  he  slew  Mercutio  ;  175 

Who  now  the  price  of  his  dear  blood  doth  owe  ? 

Mo7i.     Not  Romeo,  prince,  he  was  Mercutio's  friend ; 
His  fault  concludes  but  what  the  law  should  end, 
The  life  of  Tybalt. 

Prin.  And  for  that  offence 

Immediately  we  do  exile  him  hence :  180 

I  have  an  interest  in  your  hate's  proceeding, 
My  blood  for  your  rude  brawls  doth  lie  a-bleeding ; 
But  I'll  amerce  you  with  so  strong  a  fine, 
That  you  shall  all  repent  the  loss  of  mine : 

I  will  be  deaf  to  pleading  and  excuses;  185 

Nor  tears  nor  prayers  shall  purchase  out  abuses : 
Therefore  use  none :  let  Romeo  hence  in  haste. 

167.     and'\  to  Rowe,  &c.  conj. 

169.  Montague]  Mountagues  Q  .  hate's']  Knt.    hates'  Capell,  Var. 

176.  mve  P]  Kdin.    owe.  QqFL  (Camp.),  Sing.  Sta.  Ktly.    hearts  QqFf^ 

177.  Mon.]  Moun.  Q^.  Mou.  Q^.  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  heats' Ha.n.WaTh, 
Capu.  Q^.    Cap.  Q  Ff.    La.  Cap.  Rowe,         hearts'  Johns. 

Pope.    La.  Mont.  Theob.,  &c.  184.     the]  this  Allen  conj.  MS. 

181.  I  have. ..proceeding]  I  had  no  185.  I  will]  It  will  C^J^^ ^,1-loTnm, 
interest  in  your  heats  preceding  Johns.  186.     out]  Qq.     our  Ff,  Rowe. 

170.  false]  Johnson.  The  charge  of  falsehood  on  Benvolio,  though  produced 
at  hazard,  is  very  just.  The  author,  who  seems  to  intend  the  character  of  Benvolio 
as  good,  meant,  perhaps,  to  show  how  the  best  minds,  in  a  state  of  faction  and  dis- 
cord, are  detorted  to  criminal  partiality.     \^Sing.  Knt.  Com.  Verp.  Hal. 

Knt.  There  is  a  slight  particle  of  untruth  in  Benvolio's  statement,  which,  to  a 
certain  degree,  justifies  this  charge  of  Lady  Capulet.  Tybalt  was  bent  on  quarrel- 
ling with  Romeo,  but  Mercutio  forced  on  his  own  quarrel  with  Tybalt.  Dr.  Johtt- 
Bon's  remark  upon  this  circumstance  is  worthy  of  his  character  as  a  moralist. 

182.  My  blood]   S.  Walker.    That  is,  my  kinsman;  sanguis  metis. 

185.     I  will]   MoMM.    Qj  has  //,  referring  to  blood, — compare  Gen.  iv.   10,  tht 
voice  0/  thy  brother's  blood  crieth  unto  Me  from  the  ground, — to  me  this  interpreta 
tiou  's  very  beautiful. 


fcCT  III,  sc.  ii.]               ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 65 

Else,  when  he's  found,  that  hour  is  his  last. 

Bear  hence  this  body,  and  attend  our  will :  189 

Mercy  but  murders,  pardoning  those  that  kill.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     CapuleVs  orchard. 
Enter  Juliet. 

yul.     Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds. 
Towards  Phcebus'  lodging :  such  a  waggoner 

188.     he's]    Theob.       he    is    QqFf,  let's  House.  Rowe,  &c.     Juliet's  Apan 

Rowe,  Pope.  ment.  White. 

his]  the  Q  .  Enter...]  ...alone.  QqFf.   Juliet  seated 

190.     but]  not  F,.  near  the  window.  Wliite. 

Scene  ii.]  Rowe.     Scene  iv.  Pope.  2.     Towards]  Toward  F,FjF^,  Rowe. 

Scene  v.  Capell.  To  (Q,)  Pope,  Han. 

Capulet's  orchard.]  Globe,  Dyce  (ed.  lodging]  mansion  (QJ  Pope,  <S:c. 

2),  Cambr.     Capulet's  Garden.  Capell,  Var.  (Corn.),  Coll.  Sing.  Huds.  Clarke, 

Dyce  (ed.  i).     An  Apartment  in  Capu-  Hal.  Kily. 

190.  Mercy  but  murders]  Mal.  So  in  Hale's  Memorials:  'When  I  find 
myself  swayed  to  mercy,  let  me  remember  likewise  that  there  is  a  mercy  due  to  the 
country.'     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Mal.  So  in  Stubbes's  Anatomic  of  Abuses,  2d  part :  '  And  yet  let  the  Prince  be 
sure  of  this,  to  answere  at  the  day  of  judgment  before  the  tribunall  seate  of  God  for 
all  the  offences  that  the  partie  pardoned  shall  commit  at  any  time  of  his  life  after. 
For  if  the  Prince  had  cutte  him  off  when  the  lawe  had  passed  on  him,  that  evill  had 
not  been  committed.  To  this  purpose  I  remember  I  have  heard  a  certeine  pretie 
apothegue  [apothegme]  uttered  by  a  jester  to  a  king.  The  king  had  pardoned  one 
of  his  subjectes  that  had  committed  murther,  who,  being  pardoned,  committed  the 
like  offence  againe,  and  by  meanes  was  pardoned  the  second  time  also,  and  yet  filling 
up  the  measure  of  his  iniquitie,  killed  the  third,  and  being  brought  before  the  king, 
the  king  being  verie  sorie,  asked  him  why  he  had  killed  three  men,  to  whom  his 
jester,  standing  by,  replied,  saieing,  No  (O  King)  he  killed  but  the  first,  and  thou 
hast  killed  the  other  two ;  for  if  thou  hadst  hanged  him  up  at  the  first,  the  other  two 
had  not  beene  killed ;  therefore  thou  hast  killed  them,  and  shall  answere  for  their 
bloud.  Which  thing  being  heard,  the  king  hanged  him  up  straightway,  as  he  very 
well  deserved.'     \_Hal. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  In  F,  is  another  of  the  places  in  which  the  old  printers  confounded 
"  but"  and  not. 

Scene  II.]  Hartley  Coleridge  {'Essays,'  &c.,vol.  ii,  p.  197).  That  the  con- 
ceits in  this  scene  are  suitable  to  tragedy  I  cannot  maintain ;  but  they  have  a  smack 
of  nature.  The  mind,  surprised  by  sorrow  in  the  midst  of  playful  delights,  will  not 
immediately  change  its  tune.  The  confusion  of  feelings  will  produce  an  antic  blend- 
ing of  thoughts,  a  dance  of  death. 

I.  Gallop  apace]  Mal.  Sh.  probably  remembered  Marlowe's  A'?'«f  .f^/wtiri/ //, 
wV^ch  was  perform ci  before  1593  : 


1 66 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  III,  sc.  il 


As  Phaethon  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. — 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night. 
That  runaway'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. 


6.  runaway's']  Var.  Rann.  \Miite, 
Knt.  (ed.  2),  Cambr.  rutma-wayes  Q  .Q  . 
run-awayes  Q^FiQ,.  run-awaies  F^F  . 
run-aways  F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Johns.  M' 
Runaway's  Theob.  Han.Warb.  the  run- 
away's (^^i^cW.  That'  runaway's  KWtn 
conj.  MS.  Rumour's  Uuds.  (Heath 
conj.).  run-away  so  quoted  by  Black- 
stone.  Reiiomy's  Mason  conj.  runa- 
gate's Becket,  Hunter,  and  Muirson 
conj.  unawares  Knt.  (ed.  I),  Coll.  (ed. 
l),  Verp.  (Z.  Jackson  conj.).  Luna's 
Mitford  conj.  rumourotis  Sing.  conj. 
(withdrawn),  rumourers  Sing.  (ed.  2). 
Cynthia's  S.  Walker  conj.  enemies' 
Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.)  Heussi.  rude  day's 
Dyce,  Cham,  soon  days  or  roving  Dyce 
conj.  soon  days  Haz.  Nimmo.  run- 
away^ Del.  Sta.  Clarke,     sunny  day's. 


or  curious  or  envious  eyes  Clarke  conj, 
\sun  away)  or  unwary  or  runagate  01 
run-astray  Taylor  MS.  conj.*  noon- 
day's Anon.  (ap.  WTiite)  conj.  yondet 
Leo  conj.  runabouts'  Ktly.  Titan'i 
Bullock  conj.*  sun-awake' s  Brady  conj. 
wary  ones'  Anon,  conj.*  ribalds'  Anon, 
conj.*  Uranus'  Anon,  conj.*  roaming 
Anon,  conj.*  no  man's  Cartwright  conj. 
runaway  spies  H.  K.  conj.  sun  away 
Knt.  (ed.  2)  conj.  sun-aweary  M'll- 
waine  conj. 

wink^  weep,  so  quoted  by  Knt 
peep,  Cartwright  conj. 

7.  Leap]  Leapt  F,Fj. 

8.  rites]  F^.    rights  QqF.F^F^. 

9.  By]Andhy(l,q_^^. 

if  love  be]  of  love  to  Q  .    of  lovt 
too  Q,. 


'Gallop  apace,  bright  Phoebus,  through  the  skie. 
And  dusky  ni^hi  in  rusty  iron  car ; 
Between  you  both,  shorten  the  time,  I  pray. 
That  I  may  see  that  most  desired  day.' 

So  in  Bamabe  Riche's  Farewell :  '  The  day  to  his  seeming  passed  away  so  slowely 
that  he  had  thought  the  stately  steedes  had  bin  tired  that  drawe  the  chariot  of  the 
Sunne,  and  wished  that  Phseton  had  beene  there  with  a  whippe.'  The  first  ed.  of 
Riche's  Farewell  was  printed  in  1583.     {^Sing. 

2.     lodging]  Ui.R.   A  majority  of  the  edd.  prefer  '  mansion.'     I  see  not  why. 

Del.  Because  it  sounds  more  stately. 

Dyce.  Lodging  seems  preferable,  to  say  nothing  of  the  word  '  mansions'  occurring 
towards  the  end  of  this  speech.     (Compare  Petrarch,  Canzone  v : 

'  Quando  vede  '1  pastor  calare  i  raggi 
Del  gran  pianeta  al  nido  ov'  tgli  alberga,'  &c) 

White.  '  Mansion'  is  more  ambitious,  but  less  appropriate. 

6.  runaways]   The  notes  upon  this  word  will  be  found  in  the  ApiJer'Jr. 

9.  their  own  beauties]  Mal.   So  in  Marlowe's  Hero  and  Leander:  • dart 

ftight  is  Cupid's  day.'     \_Sing. 

Stei.v.    Milton,  in  his  Comus,  might  here  have  been  indebted  to  Sb. : 


'  Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  virtue  would. 
By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and  mooo 
Were  in  the  flat  sea  s'.ink.'     [Sing.  Sta. 


4CT  III,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AAD   JULIET.  1 67 

It  best  agrees  with  night.     Come,  civil  night,  lO 

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 

With  thy  black  mantle,  till  strange  love  grown  bold  15 

Think  true  love  acted  simple  modesty. 

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. 

II.    sober^suited'\'ilYp\^tnva'F^.  16.     Think"]      Thinks     Rowe,     occ 

13.  maidenhoods]  Q^QjF,.    maiden-         (Han.) 

heads  The  rest,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell.  19.     new  snow  on]   new  snow  upon 

14.  bating]  Steev.  bay  ting  Q^QjF,  Q3Q3F,.  Bos.  Sing.  Knt.  Com.  Coll.  (ed 
FjFj.  baiting  Q^QjF^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca-  i),  Ulr.  Del.  Ktly.  snow  upon  Q^Q^, 
pell.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Sta. 

15.  ^<>w«]  Rowe. /row  QqFf,  Ktly.  Clarke,  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

10.  civil]  Johnson.    'X\'x\.\?<,  grave,  decently  solemn.     \^Sing.  Huds. 

14.  Hood  ....  bating]  Steev.  These  are  terms  of  falconry.  An  unmanned 
hawk  is  one  that  is  not  brought  to  endure  company.  Bating  is  fluttering  with  the 
wings  as  striving  to  fly  away.     \_Sing.  Coll.  Verp.  Huds.  White,  Cham. 

Knt.   To  man  a  hawk  was  to  accustom  her  to  the  falconer  who  trained  her. 

Sta.  The  hood  was  the  cap  with  which  the  hawk  was  usually  hoodwinked.  An 
unmanned  hawk  was  one  not  sufficiently  trained  to  be  familiar  with  her  keeper,  and 
such  birds  commonly  fluttered  and  beat  their  wings  violently  in  efforts  to  escape. 
See  also  Tarn,  of  Shr.,  IV,  i,  206. 

Dyce.   The  hawk  was  hooded  till  let  fly  at  the  game. 

Nares.  To  bate,  probably  from  battre,  Fr.  It  is  a  natural  action  with  birds,  after 
bathing,  to  shake  the  moisture  from  their  wings ;  also  when  desirous  of  their  food,  or 
prey.  The  true  meaning  of  the  word  is  beautifully  exemplified  in  the  following  pas- 
sage from  Bacon :  •  Wherein  (viz.,  in  matters  of  business)  I  would  to  God  that  I 
were  hooded,  that  I  saw  less ;  or  that  I  could  perform  more  ,  for  now  I  am  like  a 
hawk  that  bates,  when  I  see  occasion  of  service ;  but  cannot  fly  because  I  am  ty'd 
to  another's  fist.' 

Dyce.  'Bate,  Bateing  or  Bateth,  is  when  the  Hawk  fluttereth  with  her  Wings 
either  from  Pearch  or  Fist,  as  it  were  striveing  to  get  away ;  also  it  is  taken  for  her 
striving  with  her  Prey,  and  not  forsaking  it  till  it  be  overcome.' — R.  Holme's 
Academy  of  Artnory  and  Blazon,  B.  ii,  c.  xi,  p.  238. 

15.  Strange]  Clarke.    That  is,  reserved,  retiring. 

15.  grown]  Coll.  (ed.  i).    Rowe's  change  was  scarcely  necessary. 

Keightley.  Rowe  was  probably  right.  Still,  when  we  consider  the  joyous  per- 
turbation of  Juliet's  mind,  there  may  be  an  asyndeton,  and  she  may  be  speaking  alio 
ttaccato. 

18,  19.  For  thou  .  .  .  back]  Coleridge  ('ZjV.  Rem.^  vol.  ii,  p.  156).  Indeed, 
the  whole  of  this  speech  is  imagination  strained  to  the  highest ;   and  observe  the 


1 68  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  in.  sc.  u. 

Come,  ge.itle  night,  come,  lovmg,  black-brow'd  night,  ao 

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. —  2f 

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  30 

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  bid  thee  fetch  ? 
Nurse.  Ay,  ay,  the  cords.  \Throws  them 

down, 
yul.     Ay  me  !  what  news  ?  why  dost  thou  wring  thy  hands  ? 

i\.     hel  I  Q^QjFf,  Ulr.  Del.  line  in  QqFf. 

24.  -will  be\  shall  be  Cl^.  35.     Throws...]    Throwing...  Capcll. 
31.     Enter...]   QqFf.    After  line  n,         cm.  QqFf. 

Dyce,  Sta.  Clarke,  White,  Cambr.     ...at  36.     Ay'^   QqFf,  Dyce,  Cambr.     Ah 

a  distance.  Capell.    Ulr.  follows  (Q,).  Han.  et  cet. 

34,35.     the  cords. ..fetch]  Yizxi.     One  Ay. .. hands  ?]  1^:0  Wnes  in  Yi. 

blessed  effect  on  the  purity  of  the  mind.     What  would  Dryden  have  made  of  it  ? 
[Cham. 
Cham.   We  may  conceive  from  his  treatment  of  The  Tempest. 

20.  black-browed]  Steev.  In  King  John,  V,  vi,  17:  '  WTiy,  here  walk  I,  in 
the  black  brow  of  night.^     \_Sing. 

21.  he  shall]  Del.  Juliet  demands  for  herself  the  life-long  possession  of  her 
lover,  and  not  until  after  her  death  may  Night,  as  her  heiress,  carry  away  Romeo. 
Of  the  possibility  of  Romeo's  death  she  cannot,  in  her  present  happiness,  conceive. 
[  Ulr. 

25.  garish]  Johnson.  Milton  had  this  speech  in  his  thoughts  when  he  wrote  the 
following  lines  in  '  II  Penseroso :'  '  Till  civil-suited  mom  appear,'  and  '  Hide  me 
from  day's  garish  eye.*     \_Sing.  Sta.  ^-^ 

Steev.   Garish  is  gaudy,  showy.    \^Sing.  Huds."]    In  Rich.  IIIYIV,  iv,  89.     In 

Marlowe's  Edward  II,  1598:  ' march'd  like  players  With  garish  robes.'     It 

sometimes  signifies  wild,  flighty.     Thus,  ' starting  up  and  garishly  staring 

tbc'it,  erpecially  on  the  face  of  Eliosto.'—  Hinde's  Eliosto  Libidinoso,  1606.     \^HaL 


iiCT  ui,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  1 69 

Niirse.     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  killed,  he's  dead. 

jful.     Can  heaven  be  so  envious  ? 

Nurse.  Romeo  can,  40 

Though  heaven  cannot. — O  Romeo,  Romeo ! — 
Who  ever  would  have  thought  it ! — Romeo ! 

yul.     What  devil  art  thou  that  dost  torment  me  thus  ? 
This  torture  should  be  roar'd  in  dismal  hell. 
Hath  Romeo  slain  himself?  say  thou  but  '  I,'  43 

And  that  bare  vowel  '  I'  shall  poison  more 
Than  the  death-darting  eye  of  cockatrice. 

37.  Ahl  Pope.     A  QqFf.  42.     Romeo  /]  Romeo —  Del. 
■weil-a-day\     welady    QjQ^FfQj.              43.     Two  lines  in  Ff. 

weradayCl^.  45.46.    '/'...'/']  ay... ay  Rowe,  Pope. 

he's  dead'\  Thrice  in  Qq.   Twice        ay... I  Corn.  White. 
iu  Ff,  Rowe.  47,48,49.  Read  47,49, 48  Johns,  conj. 

38.  We  are,  &c.]  Ktly.  {'Milton,^  vol.  i,  p.  no).  This  line  consists  of  two 
choriambs,  with  an  intermediate  trochee ;  and  there  must  be  a  pause  at  the  end  of 
each.     So  Milton  {Camus,  v.  666) :  'Why  are  you  vext,  Lady?  why  do  you  frown?' 

40.  envious.]  White.   So  malicious. 

42.  Romeo!]  Del.  I  doubt  that  this  is  here  to  be  considered  an  exclamation; 
but  it  is  rather  the  beginning  of  a  sentence  which  the  Nurse's  grief  will  not  permit 
her  to  finish. 

45.  but  *I,']  Theob.  At  Sh.'s  time  of  day  the  affirmative  adverb  Ay  was  gene- 
rally written  /.•  and  by  this  means  it  both  becomes  a  vowel,  and  answers  in  sound 
to  Eye,  upon  which  the  conceit  turns  in  the  second  line.  [Substantially,  Mai.  Sing. 
Knt.  Corn.  Verp.  Coll.  Htids.  Sta.  White,  Dyce. 

Corn.  The  edd.  have  here  thought  it  necessary  to  retain  the  old  spelling  [/  foi 
aj/].  We  have,  however,  ventured  to  deviate  from  this  unsightly  practice,  conceiving 
that  there  is  sufficient  similarity  between  the  sounds  of  *  ay'  and  '  I'  to  point  out  the 
intended  quibble.  This  is  one  of  the  trivial  passages  which  we  easily  persuade  our- 
selves have,  by  some  accident  or  impertinence,  been  foisted  into  the  genuine  text. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  'That  bare  vowel'  it  is  obviously  necessary  to  retain  here;  but 
elsewhere  we  adopt  the  modern  form. 

White.   It  has  been  necessary  to  retain  the  simple  vowel  /  twice  in  this  passage. 

47.  cockatrice]  Reed  [Note  on  2  Hen.  VI :  Ill.ii,  52].    In  Albion's  England, 

b.  1,  c.  iii : 

' As  ^sculap  an  herdsman  did  espie, 

That  did  with  easy  sight  enforce  a  basilisk  to  five, 

Albeit  naturally  that  beast  doth  murther  with  the  eye.'    \Sing.  Huds. 

Nares.  An  imaginary  creature,  supposed  to  be  produced  from  a  cock's  egg ;  a 

productii  >n  long  thought  to  be  real.     It  was  said  to  be  in  form  like  a  serpent,  with 

the  head  of  a  cock.    Sir  Thomas  Browne,  however,  distinguishes  it  from  the  ancient 

\»a.silisk,   ind  in  so  doing  describes   it  more   particularly.     Vide  Enq.  into  Vulg. 

5 


1 70  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  hi,  sc.  ii 

I  am  not  I,  if  there  be  such  an  I, 

Or  those  eyes  shut,  that  make  thee  answer  '  I.' 

If  he  be  slain,  say  '  I ;'  or  if  not,  no  :  50 

Brief  sounds  determine  of  my  weal  or  woe. 

Nurse.     I  saw  the  wound,  I  saw  it  with  mine  eyes- 
God  save  the  mark  ! — here  on  his  manly  breast : 
A  piteous  corse,  a  bloody  piteous  corse ; 

Pale,  pale  as  ashes,  all  bedaub'd  in  blood,  55 

All  in  gore  blood :  I  swounded  at  the  sight, 

48-51.     /...a.^^]  om.  Pope,  &c.  Q^QjQ/.F.F,. 

48.  a«  /,]  Qj.  fl« /.  The  rest,  an  "/]  oni.  Q^Q^Q^.  orColl.  (ed.  2; 
*Ay:'  Corn.                                                          (MS). 

48-50.     an   /....'/'....'/']    an  Ay....  55.     bedaub' d'\bedawde (^.  bedea-u/d 

Ay.... Ay  Rowe,  Com.     an  I. ...ay. ...ay  Q  . 
White.         "  56.     gore    blood'\    gore-blood    Dyce, 

49.  shufl  Capell.   shot  QqFf,  Rowe.  White,  Hal.  Ktly. 

make  thee']  Steev.,  1778  (Johns.  56.     swounded]  (Q,)  Coll.    swouned 

conj.).       makes     thee     QqF,,  Capell.  Q^.      swooned    F^,    Rowe,    &c.    Har. 

makes  the  F^F^F^,  Rowe.  sounded  The  rest,    swoonid  Com.  Dyce. 

51.     Brief  sounds]    Brief e,  sounds,  j<77i/«t/f«/ Capell,  Haz. 

Errors,  III,  vii,  p.  126.  Many  fables  were  current  respecting  it.  In  the  first  place, 
it  was  supposed  to  have  so  deadly  an  eye  as  to  kill  by  the  very  look. —  Twelfth  N., 
Ill,  iv,  215.  But  there  was  a  still  further  refinement,  that  if  the  cockatrice  first  saw 
(iie  person,  he  killed  him  by  it;  but  if  the  animal  was  first  seen,  he  died.  They 
were  supposed  to  be  able  to  penetrate  steel  by  pecking  it.  Cockatrice  was  also  a 
current  name  for  a  loose  woman ;  probably  from  the  fascination  of  the  eye. 

Sta.  [To  these  citations  adds]  :  3  Hen.  VI:  III,  ii,  187. 

53.  God  save  the  mark]  Knt.  The  commentators  leave  the  expression  in  its 
original  obscurity.  May  we  venture  a  conjecture?  The  mark  which  persons  who 
are  unable  to  write  are  required  to  make,  instead  of  their  signature,  is  in  the  form 
of  a  cross  ;  but  anciently  the  use  of  this  mark  was  not  confined  to  illiterate  persons, 
for  amongst  the  Saxons  the  mark  of  the  cross,  as  an  attestation  of  the  good  faith  of 
the  person  signing,  was  required  to  be  attached  to  the  signature  of  those  who  could 
write,  and  to  stand  in  the  place  of  the  signature  of  those  who  could  not  write.  (See 
Blackstone's  Commentaries.)  The  ancient  use  of  the  mark  was  universal;  and  the 
word  mark  was,  we  believe,  thus  taken  to  signify  the  cross.  God  save  the  mark  was, 
tlierefore,  a  form  of  ejaculation  approaching  to  the  character  of  an  oath ;  in  the  same 
manner  as  assertions  were  made  emphatic  by  the  addition  of  '  by  the  rood,'  or,  '  by 
the  holy  rood.' 

White.  (QJ  has  *  God  save  the  sample P  May  we  conclude  from  this  that,  in  the 
other  phrase,  *  mark'  means  such  a  mark  as  is  made  with  a  needle  upon  a  sampler  ? 

Dyce.    The  origin  and  meaning  of  the  exclamation  are  alike  obscure. 

56.  gore  blood]  Forby.  That  is,  clotted,  congealed  blood.  The  words  sepa- 
rately used  are  doubtless  general,  but  thus  combined  seem  to  be  provincial.  Cer- 
tainly archaic.  As  the  Nurse  says  of  Tybalt,  •  all  in  gore-blood^  exactly  so  would  an 
East  Anglian  nurse  say  on  a  like  occasion.  Or,  perhaps  'all  of  a  gore,'  or  'all  of  a 
fort  of  blood.'     \^Hal. 


ACT  m,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  171 

jtul.     O,  break,  my  heart !  poor  bankrupt,  break  at  once  ! 
To  prison,  eyes,  ne'er  look  on  liberty ! 
Vile  earth,  to  earth  resign,  end  motion  here. 
And  thou  and  Romeo  press  one  heavy  bier !  60 

Nurse.     O  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  best  friend  I  had  ! 
O  courteous  Tybalt !  honest  gentleman  ! 
That  ever  I  should  live  to  see  thee  dead ! 

Jul.     What  storm  is  this  that  blows  so  contrary  ? 
Is  Romeo  slaughter'd,  and  is  Tybalt  dead  ?  65 

My  dear-loved  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  ; 

57.     Two  lines  in  Ff.  [starting  up.  Capell. 

hankrupt\    Q.F  •    banckrout   or  66.     dear-lcnied'\  (Q^)  Pope,    dearest 

bankrout  The  rest,  Knt.  Corn.  Del.  QqFf,  Capell,  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  WTiite. 

59.  to'\  too  Q^.  67.      TheTi]   The  F^,  Rowe. 

60.  one'\  on  Q^Q  F,.  dreadful  lrtimpef\  let  the  trumpet 
[sinking  into  a  seat.]  Capell.  (Q,)  Pope,  &c. 

64.     blows\  bo7U€s  FjFj.  69.    gone}  dead  (QJ  Pope,  &c. 


Halliwell. 


'th*  Italian  horn 
Whistling  through  th'  aire,  pierc'd  through  his  corps  forlorn  • 
Whose  hollow  wound  vented  much  black  gore-bloud.' 

Virgil,  translated  by  John  Vicars,  1631. 

56.  swounded]  WmxE.  Proper  as 'jtwom^^' may  be  under  other  circumstances, 
is  there  not  something  gained  by  leaving  the  vulgar  form  of  the  word  in  the  Nurse's 
mouth  ? 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  [Note  on  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iii,  13].  Malone  says  'swoon,  in  the  old 
copies  of  these  plays,  is  ALWAYS  written  sound  or  swound.'  Yet  Malone  might  have 
found  in  F,,  'Many  will  swoon  when  they  do,'  &c.,  As  You  Like  It,  IV,  iii,  159. 
'  Or  else  I  swoone  with  this  death-killing,'  &c.,  Rich.  Ill :  IV,  i,  35.  '  What?  doth 
shee  swowNE,'  3  Hen.  VI :  V,  v,  45. 

57.  bankrupt]  Knt.  We  restore  the  old  poetical  bankrout  in  preference  to  the 
modem  bankrupt. 

66.  dear-loved]  Del.  The  QqFf  contain  a  more  pregnant  construction  than 
that  of  (Q,),  since  the  comparative  dearer  transcends  the  superlative  dearest.     [Ulr. 

Ulr.  The  comparative  dearer  gives  the  highest  expression  to  the  highest  height 
of  Love  (die  hochste  Ilohe  der  Liebe  hochst  ausdrucksvoll  bezeichnet.). 

69.  Romeo  banished]  Heraud  {'Sh.'s  Inner  Life;  1865,  p.  61).  It  must 
have  struck  every  reader  that  both  Romeo  and  Juliet's  excessive  lamentations 
for  his  banishment  from  Verona  rather  want  motive.  WHiy  could  not  Juliet  have 
gone  with  him  ?  and,  by  so  doing,  have  prevented  the  after  evils,  which  originate 
solely  in  their  apparently  needless  separation.  Brooke's  poem  supplies  the  hiatus 
Juliet  there  supplicates  her  lover  for  his  permission  to  be  his  companion  in  exile. 
Rut  he  gives  her  the  reasons  why  this  cannot  be : 


172 


ROMEO    AND   JULIET. 


[act  in,  sc.  il 


Romeo  that  kill'd  him,  he  is  banished.  70 

Jul.     O  God ! — did  Romeo's  hand  shed  Tybalt's  blood  ? 

Nurse.     It  did,  it  did ;  alas  the  day,  it  did  ! 

jful.     O  serpent  heart,  hid  with  a  flowering  face ! 
Did  ever  dragon  keep  so  fair  a  cave  ? 

Beautiful  tyrant !  fiend  angelical !  75 

Dove-feather'd  raven  !  wolvish-ravening  lamb ! 
Despised  substance  of  divinest  show ! 
Just  opposite  to  what  thou  justly  seem'st, 
A  damned  saint,  an  honourable  villain  ! 

O  nature,  what  hadst  thou  to  do  in  hell,  80 

When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a  fiend 
In  mortal  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh? 
Was  ever  book  containing  such  vile  matter 
So  fairly  bound  ?     O,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace ! 

Nurse.  There's  no  trust,  85 


71.  O  GodH  Separate  line,  Ff. 
did'\  Nur.  Did  YJ^. 

72.  Nurse.]  om.  Q^QjQ/.F^Fj. 

73.  74.  Jul.  O  serpent. ..Did^  Nur, 
O  serpent. ..Im..  Did  Q^QjQ^F,. 

76.  Dove-feathered  raven"]  Theob. 
Ravenous  douefeatherd  Rauen  Q^Q  F,. 
Ravenous  dove,  feathred  Raven  Q.Q,Fj 
FjF^,  Pope,  Warb. 

wolvish-ravening  lamb]  Separate 


line  in  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope. 

77.     Despised]  Detested  Long  MS.* 
79.     damned]  dimme  Q^Q,.     dimnt 

F.- 

81.      When]  Where  Allen  conj.  MS. 

bower]    power  Q^.     poure  Q,. 
pour  Coll.  (MS.) 

85-87.  Theri s... dissemblers]  As  in 
Capell  (following  Pope).  Two  lines, 
the  first  ending  men,  in  QqFf. 


'  For,  but  thou  change  thy  mynde,  (I  do  foretell  the  end) 
Thou  shah  undoo  thyselfe  for  aye,  and  me  thy  trusty  fiende. 
For  why,  thy  absence  knowne,  thy  father  wil  be  wroth. 
And  in  his  rage  no  [so]  narowly  he  will  pursue  us  both, 
That  we  shall  trye  in  vayne  to  scape  away  by  flight, 
And  vainely  seeke  a  loorking  place  to  hide  us  from  his  sight 
Then  we,  found  out  and  caught,  quite  voyde  of  strong  defeoce. 
Shall  cruelly  be  punished  for  thy  departure  hence  ; 
I  as  i  ravishor,  thou  as  a  careles  childe, 
I  as  1  can  who  doth  defile,  thou  as  a  mayde  defilde.' 

These  reasons  Sh.  left  to  the  imagination  of  his  audience,  or  perhaps  to  then 
memory. 

73.  O  serpent,  &c.]  Henley.   So  in  Macbeth,  I,  v,  66.     \^Sing. 

Mal.  So  in  King  John,  II,  i,  68 :  '  With  ladies  faces,  and  fierce  dragons  spleens.* 
Again  in  lien.  VIII :  III,  i,  145  :  '  You  have  angel's  faces,  but  Heaven  knows  year 
nearts.'     \^Sing. 

81.  bower]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  We  hesitate  to  alter  here,  because  'bower'  is  very 
inttjligi  >le  and  figuratively  beautiful  in  connection  with  'paradise;'  but  the  (MS.) 
ho*   rather  prosaically,  pour,  which,  however,  was  formerly  often  spelt  power. 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  1 73 

No  faith,  no  honesty  in  men ;  all  perjured, 

All  forsworn,  all  naught,  all  dissemblers. 

Ah,  where's  my  man  ?  give  me  some  aqua  vitcz  : 

These  griefs,  these  woes,  these  sorrows  make  me  old. 

Shame  come  to  Romeo  ! 

Ju/.  Blister'd  be  thy  tongue  90 

For  such  a  wish  !  he  was  not  born  to  shame  : 
Upon  his  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit ; 
For  'tis  a  throne  where  honour  may  be  crown'd 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 
O,  what  a  beast  was  I  to  chide  at  him !  95 

Nurse.     Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  kill'd  your  cousin  ? 

Jul.     Shall  I  speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husband  ? 
Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy  name, 
When  I,  thy  three-hours  wife,  have  mangled  it  ? 
But  wherefore,  villain,  didst  thou  kill  my  cousin?  ICXD 

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 ;  105 

And  Tybalt's  dead,  that  would  have  slain  my  husband : 

87.     All...dhseTnblers'\    All,   all  for-  95.     at  kitn]  him  F,.     kirn  so  F^Fj 

rworn  ;...and  all  dissemblers  Pope,  &c.  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

All  are  forsworn,  all  false,  all  are  dis-  96.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

semblers  Seymour  conj.    All  naught,  all  104.    you^  your  F^F^F^. 

forsworn,  all  dissemblers  Anon,  conj.*  106.      Tybalt 's]  Tibalt  or  Tybalt  Ff, 

All...dissembleers  Ktly.  Rowe,  Pope,  Capell.  Knt. 

91.  For  such  a  wish]  Coleridge  ('Zz/.  Rem.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  156).  Note  the 
Nurse's  mistake  of  the  mind's  audible  struggle  with  itself  for  its  decisions  in  toto. 
\_Huds. 

92.  to  sit]  Steev.  So  in  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure,  tom.  ii,  p.  223 :  '  Is  it 
possible  that  under  such  beautie  and  rare  comelinesse,  disloyaltie  and  treason  may 
have  their  siedge  and  lodging  ?'     [Sing. 

98.  smooth]  Steev.  This  means,  in  ancient  language,  to  stroke,  to  caress,  to 
fondle.     \_Dyce. 

Sing.  To  smooth  is  to  flatter,  to  sfeak  fair.  It  is  here  metaphorically  used  to 
mitigate  or  assuage  the  asperity  of  censure  with  which  Romeo's  name  would  now  be 
mentioned.     \_Huds. 

102.  foolish  tears]  Steev.    So  in  The  Tempest,  III,  i,  73:  ' I  am  a  fool 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of.'      [_Sing. 

104.  offer  up  to  joy]  Ulr.   The  metaphor  here  is  somewhat  forced,  and  recalls 
the  mode  of  expression  of  the  Italian  Poets. 
15* 


1 74  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  Tact  hi,  sc.  U. 

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,  I  lo 

Like  damned  guilty  deeds  to  sinners'  minds : 

'Tybalt  is  dead,  and  Romeo — banished;' 

That  'banished,'  that  one  word  'banished,' 

Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts.     Tybalt's  death 

Was  woe  enough,  if  it  had  ended  there:  115 

Or,  if  sour  woe  delights  in  fellowship 

And  needly  will  be  rank'd  with  other  griefs. 

Why  foUow'd  not,  when  she  said  'Tybalt's  dead,' 

Thy  father,  or  thy  mother,  nay,  or  both. 

Which  modern  lamentation  might  have  moved?  120 

But  with  a  rear-ward  following  Tybalt's  death, 

'  Romeo  is  banished,'  to  speak  that  word, 

Is  father,  mother,  Tybalt,  Romeo,  Juliet, 

All  slain,  all  dead.     '  Romeo  is  banished!' 

slain'\  kiird  F^F  F  ,  Rowe,  &c.  modern]  moderate  Long  MS.* 

108.     word  there  -was]   words   there  121.     with"]  which  F,. 

K/aj  Q  Q  Fj.     words  there  were  (^.  rear-ward  1  rear-word  CoU.  con). 

117.     ran/i'd]  wra/tkt  Q^Q^.  122.     Vanished,  to]   F^.      banished  t6 

120.     om.  Pope,  &c.  Johns.  Q3Q4^i^2F  •   banished:  to  (^^Q,C:imbT. 

114.  Hath  slain  ten  thousand]  M.  Mason.  That  is,  worse  than  the  loss  often 
thousand  Tybalts.     [Sin^.  Huds. 

116.  sour  woe,  (S:c.]  Steev.  Thus  the  Latin  hexameter  (I  know  not  whence  it 
comes) :  '  Solamen  miseris  socios  habuisse  doloris.'     \^Sta. 

Ulr.  This  corresponds  to  our  proverbial  phrase,  '  Misfortune  never  comes  alone.' 
Sleevens  and  Malone  erroneously  take  the  words  in  the  sense  of  the  familiar  Latin 
verse :  Solamen,  &c. 

117.  needly]  Clarke.  Sh.  has  here  coined  an  excellent  word,  which  is  not  given 
among  dictionary  words,  but  which  it  would  be  well  to  adopt  into  our  language  as 
good  English. 

120.  modern]  Steev.  It  means  trite,  common.  So  in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vn, 
156:  '  Full  of  wise  saws  and  modem  instances.'     \^Sing.  Huds.  Sta. 

Sta.  That  is,  ordinary,  well-known  lamentation.     So  in  All's  Well,  II,  iii,  2. 
Dvce.   '  Per  modo  tutto  fuor  del  modern'  uso.' — Dante,  Purg.  xvi,  42 ;  where 
Biagioli  remarks :  'Moderrio,  s'  usa  qui  in  senso  di  ordinario.' 

121.  rear-ward]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  Might  we  not  read  rear-word,  though  the  oW 
copies  are  uniform. 

Dvce  (ed.  z\    '  Perhaps  Collier's  conjecture  i«  right.' — W.  N.  Lettsom. 


ACT  m,  sc.  in.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 75 

There  is  no  end,  no  limit,  measure,  bound,  125 

In  that  word's  death ;  no  words  can  that  woe  sound. 
Where  is  my  father,  and  my  mother,  nurse? 

Nurse.     Weeping  and  waiHng  over  Tybalt's  corse. 
Will  you  go  to  them  ?     I  will  bring  you  thither. 

Jul.     Wash  they  his  wounds  with  tears :  mine  shall  be  spent, 
When  theirs  are  dry,  for  Romeo's  banishment.  131 

Take  up  those  cords :  poor  ropes,  you  are  beguiled. 
Both  you  and  I ;  for  Romeo  is  exiled  : 
He  made  you  for  a  highway  to  my  bed ; 

But  I,  a  maid,  die  maiden-widowed.  135 

Come,  cords  ;  come,  nurse ;  I'll  to  my  wedding-bed ; 
And  death,  not  Romeo,  take  my  maidenhead ! 

Nurse.     Hie  to  your  chamber  :  I'll  find  Romeo 
To  comfort  you :  I  wot  well  where  he  is. 

Hark  ye,  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night :  140 

I'll  to  him ;  he  is  hid  at  Laurence'  cell. 

yiil.     O,  find  him  !  give  this  ring  to  my  true  knight. 
And  bid  him  come  to  take  his  last  farewell.  \Exeunt 


Scene  III.     Friar  Laurence's  cell. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

FH.  L.     Romeo,  come  forth  ;  come  forth,  thou  fearful  man : 
Affliction  is  enamour'd  of  thy  parts, 

130.     tears  :'\    QjQ^Ff,    Dyce,    Sta.  Scene  vi.  Capell. 

Clarke,  Cambr.  Knt.  (ed.  2).     teares?  Friar....]    Capell.     The    Monastery. 

Qj,,  Pope,  &c.  Var.  et  cet.     teares^  Qj.  Rowe,  &c. 

133.     //]  /,  QjFjF^.    /  The  rest.  Enter....]    Rowe.     Enter   Frier  and 

135.  maiden-widowed  1  Hyphen  in-  Romeo.  QqFf.  Enter  Friar  Laurence, 
serted  by  Rowe,  Capell,  Dyce,  Clarke,  Cambr. 

136.  cords']    cordes   Q^.     cord   The  I.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

rest,  Rowe,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Knt.  man  /]    man ;      [Enter   Romeo. 

Scene  hi.]  Rowe.     Scene  v.  Pope.        Capell. 

130.  with  tears  :]  Sta.  All  the  modem  eds.  place  a  note  of  interrogation  after 
these  words,  but  perhaps  in  error.  The  Nurse  tells  Juliet  her  father  and  mother  are 
weeping  over  Tybalt's  corse,  and  asks  if  she  will  go  to  them ;  to  which  Juliet  replies, 
•  No,  let  them  wash  his  wounds  with  tears ;  mine  shall  be  spent  in  wailing  Romeo's 
banishment.' 

S.  \^''ALKER.   Poirt  with  the  folio — '  Wash — tears :  mine,'  &c,,  abluant.     [The 


176  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act.  m,  sc.  Hi 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity, 

Rom.     Father,  what  news  ?  what  is  the  prince's  doom  ? 
What  sorrow  craves  acquaintance  at  my  hand,  $ 

That  I  yet  know  not  ? 

Fri.  L.  Too  famihar 

Is  my  dear  son  with  such  sour  company: 
T  bring  thee  tidings  of  the  prince's  doom. 

Rom.     What  less  than  dooms-day  is  the  prince's  doom  ? 

Fri.  L.     A  gentler  judgement  vanish'd  from  his  lips,  10 

Not  body's  death,  but  body's  banishment. 

Rom.     Ha,  banishment !  be  merciful,  say 'death;' 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look, 
Much  more  than  death:  do  not  say  'banishment.' 

Fri.  L.     Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  banished:  15 

Be  patient,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide. 

Rom.     There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls, 
But  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself. 

3.  [Enter   Romeo.]    Dyce,   Clarke,  14.     more  than'\  more,  than  Capell. 
Cambr.  Much.. .death']  Than  death  itself 

4.  Two  lines  in  Ff.  (Q,)  Pope,  Han. 

5.  acquaintance]  admittance  F^,  15.  Hence]  (QJ  Han.  Here  QqF^ 
Rowe.  Rowe,  &c.  Johns.  Capell,  Knt.  Cora 

7.     with]  in  Rowe.  Del.  Sta.  Cambr. 

9.  Two  lines,  Ff.  17.      Verona]  Veronals  Pope,  &c. 

10.  gentler]  gentle  F^,  Rowe.  18.     torture,    hell]     torturing    hell 
vanish'd]  evened  Warb.     issued  Han.      Tartar,  hell  Warb. 

Heath  conj. 

note  of  interrogation  was  introduced  by  Pope.     Dyce  and  Staunton  have  recently 
restored  the  punctuation  of  the  old  copies. — Foot-note  by  Lettsom.] 

CtARKE.   This  form  of  the  imperative  is  found  in  Rich.  II :  II,  i,  138. 

10.  vanish'd]  Ktly.   I  have  never  met  with  any  sense  of  '  vanish'  but  its  ordi 

nary  one,  which  certainly  will  not  suit  here.     We  should  therefore,  I  think,  read 

issued  or  some  word  of  similar  meaning.   It  is  curious  that  Massinger  seems  to  have 

taken  '  vanish'd'  on  Sh.'s  authority.    •  Upon  those  lips  from  which  those  sweet  wordi 

vanished.' — Reneg.,  v.  5.     We  have,  however,  in  Lucrece  : 

*To  make  more  vent  for  passage  of  her  breath, 
Which,  thronging  through  her  lips,  so  vaniihetk 
As  smoke  from  ^tna,  that  in  air  consumes.' 

But  the  breath  is  material. 

13,  20,  43.  exile]  Walker  ['  Vers.'  p.  291,  cites  this  word  in  these  passages  as 
an  example  under]  Art.  lix.  There  are  a  number  of  dissyllabic  verbs  and  adjec- 
tives,— the  verbs  more  especially,  I  think,  in  the  form  of  the  past  participle, — which, 
though  at  present  they  are  accented  on  the  latter  syllable  exclusively,  have,  in  our 
old  poets,  an  accent, — though  of  course  an  unequal  one, — on  both  syllables ;  the 
principal  one  being  shifted  ad  libitum  from  tiic  one  syllable  to  the  other. 


ACT  III,  SC.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JITLIET.  1 77 

Hence  banished  is  banish'd  from  the  world, 

And  world's  exile  is  death:  then  'banished'  20 

Is  death  mis-term'd :  calling  death  'banishment, 

Thou  cut'st  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe 

And  smil'st  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 

Fn.  L.     O  deadly  sin  !     O  rude  unthankfulness ! 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death  ;  but  the  kind  prince,  25 

Taking  thy  part,  hath  rush'd  aside  the  law, 
And  turn'd  that  black  word  death  to  banishment : 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

Rom.     'Tis  torture,  and  not  mercy :  heaven  is  here, 
Wliere  Juliet  lives  ;  and  every  cat  and  dog  30 

And  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing. 
Live  here  in  heaven  and  may  look  on  her, 
But  Romeo  may  not :  more  validity, 

19.  banished']  banisKd  Rowe.  21.  ^ banishment^']  (Q,)  Pop«.  ban- 
Hence-banished    Capell,   Var,    (Com.),         ished  QqFf,  Ulr.  Del.  Cambi. 

Knt.  Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  Ktly,  23.     smiVst]   Q/jF^^.      smilest  The 

banish'd]  banished  Rowe.  rest. 

20.  world' s  exile]  world-exil'd  Pope,  26.  rush'd]  push'd  Capell  conj.  and 
&c.  Long  MS.*    brush' d  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.) 

theti]  that  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  28.  This]  That  Rowe. 

^banished']     banishment    Han.  dear]    Tneer   Pope,    from    (Q,), 

Johns.    Capell,    Sing.    (ed.    l),    Camp.  Han. 

Com.  Haz.  Dyce  (ed.  2).  32.  Live]  Lives  Rowe,  &c. 

21.  'banished']  Del.  ('Z(r;r.').  The  repetition  of  the  same  word  at  the  end  of 
several  successive  lines  is  in  Sh.'s  style ;  and  those  edd.  who  adopt  '  banishment" 
from  (Q  )  sacrifice  to  their  own  grammatical  precision  a  perfectly  Shaksperian  inac- 
curacy of  speech,  originating  in  Romeo's  passion. 

Ulr.  Romeo  in  his  wild  agony  retains  the  word,  which  Lorenzo  had  just  used, 
and  which  evokes  the  outpouring  of  his  rage,  with  the  obstinacy  of  passion,  and  uses 
the  hated  word  even  where  the  calm  speech  of  every-day  life  would  certainly  say 
*  banishment.' 

26,  rush'd]  Ktly.   Would  not  ptish'd  be  better  ?     As  in  Hen.  V :  I,  i,  5  : 

But  that  the  scambling  and  unquiet  time 
Did  push  it  out  of  further  question.' 

28.  dear  mercy]   Steev.   (Q^)  reads 'w^rif  mercy,' /.  ^.,  absolute  mercy.    \^Sing, 

29.  heaven  is  here]  Steev.  From  this,  and  the  foregoing  speech  of  Romeo, 
Dryden  has  borrowed,  in  his  beautiful  paraphrase  of  Chaucer's  Palamon  and  Arcite: 

'  Heaven  is  not,  but  where  Emily  abides 
And  where  she's  absent,  all  is  hell  besides.'    [Sing. 

Coleridge  {*Lit.  Rem.'  vol.  ii,  p.  157).  All  deep  passions  are  a  sort  of  athedsst^ 
that  believe  no  future. 

33.  validity]  Steev.  This  is  employed  to  signify  worth  or  value  in  Lear  1,  i, 
83.     [Sing 

M 


1 78  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  hi.  sc.  iii 

More  honoarable  state,  more  courtship  lives 

In  carrion-flies  than  Romeo  :  they  may  seize  35 

On  the  white  wonder  of  dear  Juliet's  hand, 

And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips ; 

"Who,  even  in  pure  and  vestal  modesty, 

Still  blush,  as  thinking  their  own  kisses  sin; 

But  Romeo  may  not ;  he  is  banished  :  40 

This  may  flies  do,  when  I  from  this  must  fly. 

They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banished : 

And  say'st  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death  ? 

35.     tJian\  than^  Allen  conj.  MS.  39.     <m]  and  Rowe  (ed.  2),*  Pope. 

37.  blessing]  blessings  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  40-43.     But. ...death  /*]  As  in  Wliite 

38.  IVho]  IVhich  Pope,  &c.  See  note  infra. 
38-46.     See  note  infra. 

34.  courtship]  Sing.  (ed.  l).  By  courtship,  courtesy,  courtly  behavior  is  meant. 
BuUokar  de^aes  '  compliment  to  be  ceremony,  court-ship,  fine  behavior.'  See  also 
Cotgr?pe  in  Curtisanie  and  Curialiti ;  and  Florio  in  Cortegiania.  'Would  I  might 
never  excel  a  Dutch  skipper  in  courtship,  if  I  did  not  put  distate  into  my  carriage 
of  pvrpose.' — Sir  Giles  Goosecap.  Again,  in  the  same  play:  '  My  lord,  my  want  of 
courtship  makes  me  fear  I  should  be  rude.' 

'  Whilst  the  young  lord  of  Telamon,  her  husband- 
Was  packeted  to  France,  to  study  courtship. 
Under,  forsooth,  a  colour  of  employment '— 

Ford^s  Fanciet  Chaste  and  NobU. 

See  also  Gifford's  Massinger,  vol.  ii,  p.  505,  where  the  true  meaning  of  the  word  has 
not  escaped  the  acute  and  able  editor.     \_Huds.  Hal. 

38-46.  Who  ....  'banished'?]  Cambr.  Instead  of  the  lines  which  he  put  in 
the  nirgin,  Pope  inserted  the  following,  copied  with  some  alterations  from  (Q,) : 

'  But  Romeo  may  not,  he  is  banished  I 
O  father,  hadst  thou  no  strong  poison  mixt. 
No  sharp  ground  knife,  no  present  means  of  death. 
But  banishment  to  torture  me  withal?* 

40-43.  But  ....  death  ?]  Cambr.   Q^  reads  as  follows  : 

'  This  may  flyes  do,  when  I  from  this  must  flie. 
And  sayest  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death? 
But  Romeo  may  not,  he  is  banished. 
Flies  may  do  this,  but  I  from  this  must  flie : 
They  are  freemen,  but  I  am  banished.' 

The  s.ame  order  is  followed  in  the  subsequent  Quartos.     The  reading  of  (Q,)  wiu 
0€  seen  in  the  reprint  which  follows  the  play.     The  F,  gives : 

'This  may  Flies  doe,  when  I  from  this  must  file. 
And  saist  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death? 
But  Romeo  may  not,  hee  is  banished.' 

This  reading  is  followed  by  the  other  Folios,  Rowe,  Theobald,  Warburton,  and 
Johnson  [Knight,  S;nger  (ed.  2).  Ed.].     Hanmer  follows  Pope  in  his  text  Tsee 


ACT  III,  sc.  ivi.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 79 

Hadst  thou  no  poison  mix'd,  no  sharp-ground  knife, 

No  sudden  mean  of  death,  though  ne'er  so  mean,  45 

44.     sharp-ground'\  Hyphen,  F^. 


foregoing   note),  omitting   altogether   the   lines  which    Pope  put   in   the  margin. 

Capell  has : 

Flies  may  do  this,  but  I  from  this  must  fly ; 
They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banished.' 

OTEEVENS  (1773)  reads: 

'  Flies  may  do  this,  when  I  from  this  must  fly ; 
They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banish'd. 
And  say'st  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death? 
But  Romeo  may  not ; — he  is  banished.' 

In  his  note  on  the  passage,  in  the  edition  of  1778,  he  conjectured  that  the  line  '  l5u( 
Romeo  .  .  .  banished'  should  be  inserted  after  '  their  own  kisses  sin ;'  an  arrange- 
ment which  was  adopted  by  Malone,  and  by  Steevens  himself  in  his  ed.  of  1793. 
Capell  suggests  that  the  lines  he  retains  '  were  second  thoughts  of  the  poet's,  and 
their  original  was  meant  for  expunction.'  This  may  possibly  be  true,  but  we  have 
adopted  the  reading  given  in  our  text  because  it  retains,  without  manifest  absurdity, 
lines  which  are  all  undoubtedly  Sh.'s.     [So  far  the  Cambridge  Editors.] 

Variorum  of  1821,  Har.  Sing.  (ed.  i),  Camp.  Corn,  and  Delius  follow  Steev- 
ens of  1793. 

Coll.  (ed.  i)  [also  Verp.  Ulr.].  We  follow  Q^  and  Q  .  In  F,  the  impassioned 
repetition  of  '  Flies  may  do  this,  but  I  from  this  must  fly,'  was,  it  would  seem,  not 
allowed  for,  and  that  and  the  following  line  were,  therefore,  as  we  think,  unneces- 
sarily omitted. 

Dyce  ['Retnarks,'  &c.].  Collier  supposes  that  Sh.  would  make  Romeo  \M.tT  the 
very  same  conceit  twice  over  in  the  course  of  a  few  lines.  The  repetition  is  nothing 
more  than  one  of  the  innumerable  varia  lectiones  of  this  tragedy.  The  line  '  But 
Romeo  may  not,'  &c.,  is  quite  out  of  place.  In  such  a  passage  as  this,  where  hideous 
confusion  has  arisen  from  the  various  readings,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  an 
editor  should  do  his  endeavor  to  rectify  that  confusion :  he  should  neither  jumble 
two  texts  together,  nor  slavishly  follow  one  particular  text. 

Ulr.  As  it  is  characteristic  of  passion  to  delight  in  a  repetition  of  the  same  words 
while  indulging  in  a  variety  and  abundance  of  images  and  conceits,  I  should  have 
omitted  these  lines  [41,  42],  which  contain  a  repetition  of  the  same  conceit  merely, 
if  Fj  had  also  omitted  the  preceding  line,  '  But  Romeo  may  not.'  If  these  lines  be 
retained,  which  continue  the  simile  of  flies,  the  two  following  are,  in  my  opinion, 
also  necessary.  Either  the  latter  have  been  omitted,  or  the  former  retained  through 
oversight. 

Hazlitt  omits  lines  40-42,  But. ...banished. 

Hudson,  Dyce,  Chambers,  Keightley  adopt  F,  and  transpose  the  line  ♦  But 
Romeo  may  not,'  &c.,  to  follow  '  Still  blush,  as  thinking,'  &c. 

Sta.  [adopts  F,  and  transposes  '  But  Romeo,'  &c.,  to  follow  '  This  may  flies  do,' 
fee]  Capell  rightly  conjectures  that  the  author's  first  draft  of  this  passage  was  left 
Itanding  in  the  MS.,  and  so  got  printed  with  the  after  version. 

Coll.  (ed.  2)  [adds  to  his  former  note]  :  There  is  manifestly  some  confusion  in 
Bie  text,  but  as  by  leaving  cut  the  lines  we  might  exclude  something  which  Sh.  at 


l8o  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iii,  sc.  iii 

But  '  banished'  to  kill  me  ?— '  Banished'  ? 

0  friar,  the  damned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 
Howling  attends  it :  how  hast  thou  the  heart, 
Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 

A  sin-absolver,  and  my  friend  profess'd,  5c 

To  mangle  me  with  that  word  '  banished'  ? 

Fn.  L.     Thou  fond  mad  man,  hear  me  but  speak  a  word. 

Rom.     O,  thou  wilt  speak  again  of  banishment. 

Fri.  L.     I'll  give  thee  armour  to  keep  off  that  word ; 
Adversity's  sweet  milk,  philosophy,  55 

To  comfort  thee,  though  thou  art  banished. 

Rom.     Yet  '  banished'  ?     Hang  up  philosophy ! 
Unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet, 
Displant  a  town,  reverse  a  prince's  doom, 

48.     Howling  attends]  Hcmlings  at-  QjQj-     Thou...a  little  speake  Q/X,  Ca 

tends  F,.  Horjjlings  attend  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  pell,  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  Sta.  White,  Dycc 

&c.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Huds.  Dyce,  (ed.  2).     Then  fond  mad  man,  heart 

Sta.  WTiite.  me  speake  F,.    Fond  mad  man,  heart 

51.  'banished'"]  banishment  (QJ  me  speake  F^F^F^  {mad-man  F  ,  Rowe, 
Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Var.  (Com.)  &c.) 

52.  Thou...word'\  (QJ  Mai.     Then  54.     thee]  the  F,. 

fond  mad  man,  heare  me  a  little  speake  keep  off]  bear  off  Pope,  Han. 

one  time  inserted,  we  rather  leave  them  as  a  reduplication  than  strike  them  out  as 
interpolated. 

White  follows  Steevens  of  1793  in  the  arrangement  of  lines,  but  adopts  from 
QqFf  line  41,  and  in  a  note  says :  '  that  the  new  lines,  "  But  Romeo  may  not,"  &c., 
and  "They  are  freemen,"  &c.,  were  added  in  the  wrong  places  seems  so  clear  that 

1  have  not  hesitated  to  regulate  the  text  accordingly.' 
Halliwell  and  Clarke  follow  Staunton. 

Cambr.  follows  White,  except  in  reading  but  for  'when'  in  line  41. 

52.  fond]  Coll.  (ed.  I).  '  Fond'  is,  of  course,  here,  as  in  many  other  places, 
foolish.     [Htids. 

52.  word]  White.  The  reading  of  (Q,)  has  been  hitherto  retained,  although 
the  change  in  Q^  seems  plainly  to  have  been  made  to  avoid  the  unpleasant  recur- 
rence of  'word,'  unemphasized,  three  times  in  four  lines,  twice  at  the  end  of  lines 
spoken  by  the  same  character.     \_-Dyce  (ed.  2). 

55.  Adversity's  .  .  .  banished]  Mal.    So  in  Romeus  and  Juliet,  the  Friar  saysi 

'  Vertue  is  alwayes  thrall  to  troubles  and  annoye. 
But  wiidottie  in  advertitit  findes  cause  of  quiet  joye.' 

See  also  Lyly's  Euphues,  1580 :  '  Thou  sayest  banishment  is  better  to  the  freebome. 
There  be  many  meates  which  are  sowre  in  the  mouth  and  sweet  in  tlie  maw ;  but  if 
thou  mingle  them  with  s^ueet  sawces,  they  yeeld  both  a  pleasant  taste  and  wholesome 
nourishment.  I  speake  this  to  this  end ;  that  though  thy  exile  seeme  grievous  to 
thee,  yet,  guiding  thyselfe  with  the  rM\i:&  ol  philosophy ,  it  shall  be  moie  tolerable. 
ySing.  Hal. 


ACT  III,  SC.  iii.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


i8i 


It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not :  talk  no  more.  60 

Fii.  L.     O,  then  I  see  that  madmen  have  no  ears. 

Rom.     How  should  they,  when  that  wise  men  have  no  eyes  ? 

Fri.  L,     Let  me  dispute  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

Rom.     Thou  canst  not  speak  of  that  thou  dost  not  feel : 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love,  65 

An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished, 
Then  might'st  thou  speak,  then  might'st  thou  tear  thy  hair, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground,  as  I  do  now,  69 

Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave.  \_Knocking  within. 

Fri.  L.    Arise ;  one  knocks ;  good  Romeo,  hide  thyself. 

Rom.     Not  I ;  unless  the  breath  of  heart-sick  groans 
Mist-like  infold  me  from  the  search  of  eyes.  [Knocking. 

Fri.  L.     Hark,   how  they   knock! — Who's   there? — Romeo, 
arise ; 
Thou  wilt  be  taken. — Stay  awhile ! — Stand  up ;  [Knocking. 

Run  to  my  study. — By  and  by ! — God's  will,  76 

What  simpleness  is  this  ! — I  come,  I  come !  [Knocking. 

Who  knocks  so  hard  ?  whence  come  you  ?  what's  your  will  ? 

Niirse.  [Within\     Let  me  come  in,  and  you  shall  know  my 

errand ; 


more- 


bo.     more.\  more.    F,FjF^. 
Rowe,  &c. 

62.  Two  lines,  Ff. 

thaf^  om.  QjQ/fQj,  Rowe. 

63.  dispute']  dispaire  F,Fj.     despair 
FjF^,  Rowe. 

65.      Wert  thou  as  young]    If  thou 
wert  young  Seymour  conj. 

as  I,  Juliet  thy]   as  Juliet  my 
Ff,  Rowe. 

68.     Two  lines,  QqFf.   One  in  Rowe. 

migkt^  St. ..might'  st]      mightest... 

mightst  Qj.     mightest. ..mightest  QjQ^F, 

Fj.      mightst. ...mightst    (QJQj,    Corn, 

Dyce,  Coll.  (ed.  2),  Cambr. 

70.     [Knocking  within.]    Throwing 


himself  on  the  ground.  Knock  within. 
Rowe.  Dyce  and  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (substan- 
Enter  Nurse,  and  knockes.  Q, 

Nurse  knocks.  Q^Q-. 

Two  lines,  Ff. 

Not  I]  Separate  line,  Ff. 

Two  lines,  Ff. 

[Knocking.]  Slud  knock.  Q^Qj. 
Knocke  againe.  Q^Q,.     Knocke.  Ff. 

77.  simpleness]  wilfulness  (Q,)  Pope, 
&c.  Var.  (Corn.),  Coll.  Sing.  Huds.  Sla. 
Wliite,  Clarke,  Hal.  Ktly. 

78.  Two  lines  in  Ff. 

79.  Nurse  [Within]  Rowe.  Enter 
Nurse.    Nur.  QqFf. 

Two  lines  in  Ff. 


tially). 
QsFf. 

71. 

72. 

74. 
75- 


63.  Let  me  dispute]  Steev.  That  is,  let  me  talk  over  your  affairs,  or  the  present 
state  you  are  in.  \_Sing.]  The  same  phrase,  with  the  same  meaning,  occurs  if 
The  \^  inter's  Tale :  IV,  iv,  411. 

Sta.  Let  ne  reason  with  you  upon  your  affairs.     [Dyce. 

16 


IS2 


ROMEO   AND   JUUET. 


[act  m,  sc.  lit 


I  come  from  Lady  Juliet. 
Fri.  L.  Welcome,  then. 


80 


Enttr  Nurse. 

Nurse.     O  holy  friar,  O,  tell  me,  holy  friar, 
Where  is  my  lady's  lord,  where's  Romeo? 

Fri.  L.     There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears  made  drunk. 

Nurse.     O,  he  is  even  in  my  mistress'  case, 
Just  in  her  case ! 

Fii.  L.  O  woeful  sympathy!  85 

Piteous  predicament ! 

Nurse.  Even  so  lies  she. 

Blubbering  and  weeping,  weeping  and  blubbering. — 
Stand  up,  stand  up ;  stand,  an  you  be  a  man : 
For  Juliet's  sake,  for  her  sake,  rise  and  stand ; 
Why  should  you  fall  into  so  deep  an  O  ?  90 

RojH.     Nurse ! 

Nurse.     Ah  sir  !  ah  sir !     Well,  death's  the  end  of  all. 


80.     Enter  Nurse.]  Rowe. 

82.  Where  is']  (Q,)  Rowe.  Wheres 
Q,Q3.     Where's  Q/.F,Q,F3F^. 

83.  One  line  (Q,)  Pope.   Two,  QqFf. 

84.  mistress^']  Pope.  mistresse  or 
mistress  QqFf.     mistress's  Rowe. 

case]  cause  F^F^. 

85,86.  0 woeful. ..predicament]  Given 
to  'Friar'  by  Steev.  1778  (Fanner  and 
S.  Walker  conj.).  Continued  to  '  Nurse' 
in  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Capell,  Ulr.  Del. 

88.  an  you]  Rowe  (ed.  2)*.  and 
you  QqFf. 


89.  [Romeo  groans.]  Coll.  (ed.  2) 

ais.) 

90.  an  0]  an  Oh  Rowe,  &c.  Coll, 
(ed.  2)  (MS.),  Ktly. 

90.  91.  an  0  ?  Rom.  Nurse]  an — 
Rom.     Oh  nurse  Han.  Johns. 

91.  [Rising  suddenly.]  Coll.  (ed.  2) 
(MS.)     [Rising.]  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

92.  Well,  death's]  (Q,)  Mai.  Var. 
Knt.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cham.  Clarke,  Cambr. 
deaths  Q^QjF^F^F^.  death's  Q^F^,  Rowe. 
death  is  Q^,  Pope,  &c.  Capell.  Death  u 
Coll.  et  cet. 


85.  O  woeful  .  .  .  predicament]  Farmer.  The  old  copies  give  these  words  to 
the  Nurse.  One  may  wonder  the  edd.  did  not  see  that  such  language  must  neces- 
sarily belong  to  the  Friar. 

Del.  {'Lex.')  Throughout  this  scene,  as  well  as  in  the  scenes  that  follow,  Sh. 
represents  the  readiness  of  the  Friar  to  act,  in  contrast  to  the  vain  waitings  of  Romeo 
and  the  Nurse.  The  Friar,  therefore,  instead  of  joining  in  the  lamentations  of  the 
jthers,  would  be  much  more  likely  to  repress  them. 

Ulr.  It  is  far  from  being  out  of  character  for  the  Nurse  to  interlard  her  talk 
with  some  few  grand,  high-sounding  phrases,  which  she  had  caught  up  in  her 
\ong  intercourse  with  the  higher  ranks,  especially  with  Lady  Capulet.  My  view 
:s  also  sustained  by  the  word  predicament,  which  only  half  and  half  applies  here, 
inasmuch  as  it  only  exceptionally,  and  under  certain  circumstances,  signifies  the 


ACT  III,  sc.  lii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 83 

Rom.     Spak'st  thou  of  Juliet?  how  is  it  with  her? 
Doth  she  not  think  me  an  old  murderer, 

Now  I  have  stain'd  the  childhood  of  our  joy  95 

With  blood  removed  but  little  from  her  own  ? 
Where  is  she  ?  and  how  doth  she  ?  and  what  says 
My  conceal'd  lady  to  our  cancell'd  love  ? 

Nurse.     O,  she  says  nothing,  sir,  but  weeps  and  weeps ; 
And  now  falls  on  her  bed;  and  then  starts  up,  lOO 

And  Tybalt  calls ;  and  then  on  Romeo  cries. 
And  then  down  falls  again. 

RoDi.  As  if  that  name, 

Shot  from  the  deadly  level  of  a  gun, 
Did  murder  her ;  as  that  name's  cursed  hand 
Murder'd  her  kinsman. — O,  tell  me,  friar,  tell  me,  105 

In  what  vile  part  of  this  anatomy 
Doth  my  name  lodge  ?  tell  me,  that  I  may  sack 
The  hateful  mansion.  [Drazving  his  sword. 

Fri.  L.  Hold  thy  desperate  hand  : 

Art  thou  a  man  ?  thy  form  cries  out  thou  art : 

93.  Spak'st^   Qj.     Spakest  Q^QjQ^,         Pope,  &c. 

Cambr.     Speak st  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Ktly.  on\  om.  F^F^. 

is  it'\  ist  Q  .     isU  F^,  Rowe.  102,  103.     As  if...gun'\  As  in  Rowe 

94.  she  not'\  not  she  Q^QjQ^Ff,  Rowe,        One  line  in  QqFf. 

&c.  [Starting  up.]  Capell. 

95.  /  have'\  have  I  Rowe  (ed.  2)*,  103.     deadly']  dead  F^. 
Pope.  105.     O]  om.  Pope,  &c. 

childhood']  child-head  Q  .  108.     [Drawing...]  Theob.     om.  Qq 

97.  doth]  does  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ff.    Ulr.  follows  (QJ.    ...dagger.  Dyce. 

98.  conceal'd]  conseaVd]  Warb.  hand :]    hand,     [wresting    the 
cancelled]  conceaPd  Ff,  Rowe.  Dagger  from  him.  Capell. 

lOI.     calls. ...cries]    cries. ...calls   (Q,) 

same  as  situation  (La^e),  and  even  in  this  sense  does  not  exactly  suit  the  con- 
nection. 

White.  There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  Farmer  was  right. 

98.  conceal'd,  &c.]  Heath.  The  epithet  conceal'd  is  to  be  understood,  not  of 
the  person,  but  of  the  condition  of  the  lady.  So  that  the  sense  is,  My  la.Iy,  whose 
being  so,  together  with  our  marriage  which  made  her  so,  is  concealed  fiom  the  world. 
[Sin^:  Huds.  Clarke. 

Walker  {^Vers.'  p.  291)  cites  this  word  as  an  example  under  Art.  lix.  See 
above,  line  1 3  of  this  scene. 

109.  Art  thou  a  man?  &c.]  Mal.   Sh.  has  here  closely  followed  Romeus  and 

Juliet : 

'Art  thou,  quoth  he,  a  man?  thy  shape  saith,  so  thou  art; 
Thy  crying  and  thy  weping  eyes  denote  a  woman's  hart. 


1 84  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ill,  sc.  HI 

Thy  tears  are  womanish  ;  thy  wild  acts  denote  i  lO 

The  unreasonable  fury  of  a  beast : 

Unseemly  woman  in  a  seeming  man ! 

Or  ill-beseeming  beast  in  seeming  both ! 

Thou  hast  amazed  me :  by  my  holy  order, 

I  thought  thy  disposition  better  temper'd.  II5 

Hast  thou  slain  Tybalt  ?  wilt  thou  slay  thyself? 

And  slay  thy  lady  that  in  thy  life  lives, 

By  doing  damned  hate  upon  thyself? 

Why  rail'st  thou  on  thy  birth,  the  heaven  and  earth  ? 

no.     denote]  deuo/e  Q^Q.     doe  note  growth*). 

F,.     do  note  F^F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  117.     lady... lives,]  F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca- 

113.      Or]   (QJ  Steev.     And  QqFf,  pell,   Knt.    Corn.    Sta.   White,   Cambr. 

Rowe,  Theob.  Johns.  Capell,  Knt.  Del.  lady,  that  in  thy  life  lies,  QqF^F^F^, 

An  Warb.  lady  too,  that  lives  in  thee  ?  (QJ  Pope; 

both]      Groth     Warb.     (?    for  Han.  Var.  et  cet. 

For  manly  reason  is  quite  from  of  thy  mynd  outchased. 
And  in  her  stead  affections  lewd  and  fancies  highly  placed: 
So  that  I  stoode  in  doute,  this  howre  (at  the  least), 
If  thou  a  man  or  woman  wert,  or  els  a  brutish  beast' 

[Sing.  CoU.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  a). 

III.  a  beast]  Clarke.  One  of  the  numerous  instances  where  Sh.  uses  ' beast' 
as  the  antithesis  to  '  man.'  In  As  You  Like  It,  IV,  iii,  47,  Rosalind,  disguised  as 
Ganymede,  and  reading  the  words :  '  Whiles  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me,'  adds, 

•  Meaning  me  a  beast;'  as  though  that  were  the  necessary  sequence  in  opposition  to 

•  man.' 

117.  And  slay,  &c.j  Del.  This  reading  is  far  preferable  to  that  of  (QJ  on  ac- 
count of  the  accent  that  falls  on  the  second  thy,  and  because  of  the  Shakspearian 
collocation  of  life  and  lives. 

119.  thy  birth]  Mal.  Romeo  has  not  here  railed  on  his  birth,  &c.,  though  in 
his  interview  with  the  Friar,  as  described  in  the  poem,  he  is  made  to  do  so : 

'  Fjrrst  Nature  did  he  blame,  the  author  of  his  lyfe, 
In  which  his  joyes  had  been  so  scant,  and  sorowes  aye  so  ryfe ; 
The  time  and  place  of  byrih  he  fiersly  did  reprove, 
He  cryed  out  (with  open  mouth)  against  the  ttarres  above,— 
On  Fortune  eke  he  raylde.' 

Sh.  copied  the  remonstrance  of  the  Friar  without  reviewing  the  former  part  of  his 
scene.  He  has,  in  other  places,  fallen  into  a  similar  inaccuracy  by  sometimes  fol- 
lowing and  sometimes  deserting  his  original.     \_Sing.  Sta.  White. 

Ulr.  It  is  true  Sh.  appears  to  have  followed  here  the  source  of  his  plot  a  little 
too  closely,  but  the  oversight  is  not  so  great  as  the  English  critics  assume ;  it  can  be 
very  readily  supposed  that  before  the  scene  opens  Romeo  had  done  what  Laurence 
now  reproaches  him  with. 

White.  The  omission  in  (QJ  of  seventeen  lines  in  this  speech  is  due,  without  a 
dov-'bt,  to  the  hasty  and  surreptitious  manner  in  which  that  edition  was  published, 
»nd  net  to  the  addition  of  them  upon  the  revision  of  the  play      For  the  supposition 


ICT  III,  sc.  iii.j  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 85 

Since  birth  and  heaven  and  earth,  all  three  do  meet  120 

In  thee  at  once,  which  thou  at  once  wouldst  lose. 

Fie,  fie,  thou  shamest  thy  shape,  thy  love,  thy  wit ; 

Which,  like  a  usurer,  abound'st  in  all. 

And  usest  none  in  that  true  use  indeed 

Which  should  bedeck  thy  shape,  thy  love,  thy  wit:  125 

Thy  noble  shape  is  but  a  form  of  wax, 

Digressing  from  the  valour  of  a  man ; 

Thy  dear  love  sworn,  but  hollow  perjury. 

Killing  that  love  which  thou  hast  vow'd  to  cherish ; 

Thy  wit,  that  ornament  to  shape  and  love,  1 30 

Mis-shapen  in  the  conduct  of  them  both. 

Like  powder  in  a  skilless  soldier's  flask, 

Is  set  a-fire  by  thine  own  ignorance, 

And  thou  dismember'd  with  thine  own  defence. 

120,  121.  do  meet  In  thee  at  once]  so  Knt.  (ed.  2).  a  fier  Q^Q  .  a  fire  Q^Ff, 
meet.  In  thee  atone  Warb.  Rowe.    on  fire  Q  ,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

121.  lose]  QjFjF^.    /wjtf  The  rest.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  (ed.  i),  Sing.  Ktly. 

133.  afire]     Huds.    Dyce,    Cambr.         0' fire  Sta.    afire  Coll.  et  cet. 

that  Sh.,  when,  after  years  of  mental  developement,  he  revised  the  early  version  of 
this  tragedy,  began  his  labour  in  this  passage  by  finishing  a  sentence,  and  then,  for 
the  sake  of  sixteen  lines,  went  helplessly  back  again  to  Brooke's  old  poem,  and, 
taking  it  up  where  he  before  dropped  it,  led  off  by  versifying  a  sentence  inconsistent 
with  what  he  had  before  written,  is  too  absurd  to  merit  a  second  thought. 

127.  Digressing]  Boswell.  So  in  Richard  II:  V,  iii,  65.  Also  in  Bamabe 
Riche's  Farewell :  '  Knowing  that  you  should  otherwise  have  used  me  than  you 
bave,  you  should  have  digressed  and  swarved  from  your  kinde.'     {_Smg.  Hal. 

Steev.   So  in  the  24th  book  of  Homer's  Odyssey,  translated  by  Chapman : 

' my  deservings  shall  in  nought  digress 

From  best  fame  of  our  race's  foremost  merit'    \,Hal. 

132.  powder]  Steev.  The  ancient  English  soldiers,  using  /wc/r/^-locks  instead 
of  locks  with  flints,  were  obliged  to  carry  a  lighted  match  hanging  at  their  belts, 
very  near  to  the  wooden  flask  in  which  they  kept  their  powder.  The  same  allusion 
occurs  in  Humours  Ordinary,  an  old  collection  of  English  epigrams : 

'  When  she  his  flask  and  touch-box  set  on  fire, 
And  til)  this  hour  the  burning  is  not  out'    [Sing.  Huds.  Knt.  HaL 

Ulr.  That  flint-locks  were  in  use  in  Sh.'s  middle  age  a  passage  in  Hen.  V:  II,  i 
55,  shows.  So  that  this  reference  here  to  a  match-lock  seems  to  me  another  proof 
that  this  tragedy  belongs  to  the  earlier  pieces  of  Sh.,  and  was  written  probably  six  or 
eight  years  tefore  Henry  V  (1599). 

134.  And  thou]  Johnson.  And  thou  torn  to  pieces  with  thine  own  weapons. 
\Sing.  Huds 

16  • 


i86 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  m.  sc,  iii 


What,  rouse  thee,  man  !  thy  Juliet  is  aHve,  1 35 

For  whose  dear  sake  thou  wast  but  lately  dead ; 

There  art  thou  happy :  Tybalt  would  kill  thee. 

But  thou  slew'st  Tybalt ;  there  art  thou  happy  too  : 

The  law,  that  threaten'd  death,  becomes  thy  friend, 

And  turns  it  to  exile;  there  art  thou  happy:  14O 

A  pack  of  blessings  lights  upon  thy  back ; 

Happiness  courts  thee  in  her  best  array; 

But,  like  a  misbehaved  and  sullen  wench. 

Thou  pout'st  upon  thy  fortune  and  thy  love : 

Take  heed,  take  heed,  for  such  die  miserable.  I45 

Go,  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed. 

Ascend  her  chamber,  hence  and  comfort  her: 

But  look  thou  stay  not  till  the  watch  be  set, 

For  then  thou  canst  not  pass  to  Mantua ; 

Where  thou  shalt  live  till  we  can  find  a  time  150 

To  blaze  your  marriage,  reconcile  your  friends. 

Beg  pardon  of  the  prince  and  call  thee  back 

With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 

Than  thou  went'st  forth  in  lamentation. — 

Go  before,  nurse  :  commend  me  to  thy  lady,  155 

And  bid  her  hasten  all  the  house  to  bed. 

Which  heavy  sorrow  makes  them  apt  unto  : 

Romeo  is  coming. 

Nurse.     O  Lord,  I  could  have  stayed  here  all  the  night 


1 38.  slew* St. ..tool  ■f^^'^^-f'  Tibalt,  there 
art  thou  happie  Qq.  slew*st...happie  F^, 
Km.  sle-iu'st  Tybalt;  there  thou'rt 
happy  too  Pope,  &c.  slew' st... there  too 
art  thou  happy.  Capell. 

139.  becomes']  Q(\.  became  Ff,Rovfe, 
&c.  Knt.  Sta. 

140.  turns]  tumes  Q^Q^Q,.  tume 
Qj.    turn' J  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Sta. 

141.  0/  blessings]  of  blessing  Q^, 
Knt.     or  blessing  F,. 

lights]   light  Q^QjQ/f,  Rowe, 
&c.  Capell.  Corn.  Sta. 


143.  misbehaved  and]  mishaued 
and  Q,Q,.  mishaped  and  F,.  mis- 
shaped and  a  F^F  .  mis-shapen  and  a 
F^.     mis-hav'd  and  a  Rowe,  Capell. 

144.  pout'st  upon]  powts  upon  Q^. 
poutst  upon  Q  .  puts  up  Q3Q3.  puttesi 
up  Ff,  Rowe,  Knt.  frownst  upon  (Q,) 
Corn,    poutest  up  Nicholson  conj.  * 

152.  the  prince]  thy  prince  Q,Ff, 
Rowe,  &c.  (Han.),  Knt. 

159.  all  the  night]  all  night  Yl. 
all  night  long  Pope,  &c. 


135.  thy  Juliet,  &c.]  Ulr.  Here  again  we  must  suppose  that  Romeo,  before  the 
opening  of  this  scene,  had  expressed  the  fear  that  Juliet  may  have  been  made  sick 
or  even  killed  by  horror  and  pain  at  his  deed. 

144.  pout'st  upon]   Knt.    Is  to  put  up  used  as  to  put  aside? 


ACT  III,  SC.  iv."|  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  1 87 

To  hear  good  counsel :  O,  what  learning  is  ! —  160 

My  lord,  I'll  tell  my  lady  you  will  come. 

Rom.     Do  so,  and  bid  my  sweet  prepare  to  chide. 

Nurse.     Here,  sir,  a  ring  she  bid  me  give  you,  sir : 
Hie  you,  make  haste,  for  it  grows  very  late.  \_Exit. 

Rom.     How  well  my  comfort  is  revived  by  this  !  165 

Fn.     Go  hence ;  good  night ;  and  here  stands  all  your  state : 
Either  be  gone  before  the  watch  be  set. 
Or  by  the  break  of  day  disguised  from  hence : 
Sojourn  in  Mantua;  I'll  find  out  your  man, 

And  he  shall  signify  from  time  to  time  170 

Every  good  hap  to  you  that  chances  here : 
Give  me  thy  hand ;  'tis  late  :  farewell ;  good  night. 

Rom.     But  that  a  joy  past  joy  calls  out  on  me, 
It  were  a  grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee :  174 

Farewell.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.     A  room  in  Capidet's  house. 
Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  Paris. 

Cap.     Things  have  fall'n  out,  sir,  so  unluckily 
That  we  have  had  no  time  to  move  our  daughter. 
Look  you,  she  loved  her  kinsman  Tybalt  dearly, 
And  so  did  I. — Well,  we  were  born  to  die. — 
'Tis  very  late ;  she'll  not  come  down  to-night :  5 

I  promise  you,  but  for  your  company, 
I  would  have  been  a-bed  an  hour  ago, 

162.  [Nurse  offers  to  go  in  and  turns  166-168.       cm.     (QJ     Pope,    &c. 
again]  (Q,)  Ulr.  (Johns.) 

163.  Here  sir"]   Here  is  (Q,)    Coll.  166.     Go  hence^  Separate  line,  Ff. 
(MS.)  Dyce  (ed.  2).  168.     disguiseJ'\  disguise  Q^. 

ring  she"]  ring,  sir,  thai  she  "DycQ  175.  /ar^w^//]  cm.  Pope,&c.(John5.) 

(ed.  2).  Scene  iv.]  Rowe.     Scene  vi.  Pope. 

bid'\    bids    Q^Qj-      bade    Corn.  Scene  vii.  Capell. 

Dyce  (ed.  2),  from  (Q,).  A   room...]    Capell.      Capulet's 

you,  sir"]  you:  Dyce  (ed.  2).  House.  Rowe,  &c. 

164.  [Exit.]  Capell,  after  ^oot/ MtV.^/",  Enter...]  Rowe. 
line  166.     om.  QqFf.  2.     kad'\  om.  F  F^. 


163.  Here,  sir]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  insertion  of  '  sir*  twice  in  the  line  may  have 
been  intended  to  indicate  the  state  of  feeling  of  the  Nurse. 

166.  here  stands  all]  Johns.  The  whole  of  your  fortune  depends  on  this, 
{Sing.  Huds.  Sta. 


1 88  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ill,  sc.  i» 

Par.     These  times  of  woe  afford  no  time  to  woo. 
Madam,  good  night :  commend  me  to  your  daughter. 

La.  Cap.     I  will,  and  know  her  mind  early  to-morrow;  10 

To-night  she's  mewed  up  to  her  heaviness. 

Cap.     Sir  Paris,  I  will  make  a  desperate  tender 
Of  my  child's  love :  I  think  she  will  be  ruled 
In  all  respects  by  me ;  nay  more,  I  doubt  it  not — 
Wife,  go  you  to  her  <re  you  go  to  bed ;  1 5 

Acquaint  her  here  of  my  son  Paris*  love ; 
And  bid  her,  mark  you  me,  on  Wednesday  next — 
But,  soft !  what  day  is  this  ? 

Par.  Monday,  my  lord. 

Cap.     Monday !  ha,  ha !     Well,  Wednesday  is  too  soon ; 
O*  Thursday  let  it  be  : — o'  Thursday,  tell  her,  20 

She  shall  be  married  to  this  noble  earl. 
Will  you  be  ready  ?  do  you  like  this  haste  ? 
We'll  keep  no  great  ado ;  a  friend  or  two ; 

8.     time\  (Q.)  Rowe.     times  QqFf.  Q3.    here  with  Q^,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

•woo\  woe  Q  .  there  of  Ktly. 

il.     she's     mew'J'}     Theob.       shees  17.     next — ]  Rowe.    next,  QqFf. 

mewed  Q,.      she  is  mewed   QjQ^FfQ^.  20-22.     O*    Thursday. .. .haste  f'\    On 

the  is  me-ufd  Rowe,  Capell.  Thursday  let  it  be  :  you  shall  be  mar- 

12.     [calling  him  back.  Capell.  ry'd.  (QJ  Pope,  Han. 

desperate']  separate  Han.  Warb.  20.     0\...o'''\    Capell.     A. ...a   QqFf, 

14.     nay....not']  nay,  I  not  doubt  it  Rowe.    On...d'  Theob.  Johns. 

I  Ian.  23.     W^llkeep\  Well,  keep  Q,,  Momm. 

16.     here  ofl  here,  of  Q^^^.  hereof, 

11.  mew'd]  Dyce.  'Mew  is  the  place,  whether  it  be  abroad  or  in  the  house,  in 
which  the  Hawk  is  put  during  the  time  she  casts  or  doth  change  her  Feathers.' — 
R.  Holme's  Academy  of  Armory  and  Blazon  ( Te^ms  of  Art  used  in  Falconry,  &c.), 
B.  ii,  cxi,  p.  241. 

Ulr.  What  delight  Lady  Capulet  takes  in  choice  phrases  \ 

12.  desperate  tender]  Johns.  This  means  only  bold,  adventurous,  as  if  he  had 
said  in  vulgar  phrase :  '  I  will  speak  a  bold  word,  and  venture  to  promise  you  my 
daughter.'     \^Sing.  Iluds.  Hal. 

Steev.  So  in  The  Weakest  goes  to  the  Wall,  1600:  '  Witness  this  desperate  tender 
of  mine  honour.'      \_Sing.  Hal. 

Del.  Capulet  uses  '  desperate'  with  affected  modesty,  as  though  it  appeared  even 
to  himself  excessively  bold. 

Sta.    I  will  make  a  confident  offer  or  promise  of  my  daughter's  love. 

23.  We'll  keep]  Mommsen.  We  should  retain  Well  of  Q,  instead  of  W^ll  in 
(QJQj-,  and  in  all  our  eds.,  Capulet,  who  had  appointed  the  coming  Thursday  for 
the  wedding,  asks  his  wife,  '  Will  you  be  ready  ?  do  you  like  this  haste  ?'  Whereat 
the  Lady  makes  a  gesturr  of  horror  at  the  supposition  that  she  can  so  soon  be  ready 


ACT  III,  SC.  v.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


189 


For,  hark  you,  Tybalt  being  slain  so  late. 

It  may  be  thought  we  held  him  carelessly,  25 

Being  our  kinsman,  if  we  revel  much : 

Therefore  we'll  have  some  half-a-dozen  friends. 

And  there  an  end.     But  what  say  you  to  Thursday  ? 

Par.     My  lord,  I  would  that  Thursday  were  to-morrow. 

Cap.     Well,  get  you  gone  :  o'  Thursday  be  it  then. —  30 

Go  you  to  Juliet  ere  you  go  to  bed. 
Prepare  her,  wife,  against  this  wedding-day. — 
Farewell,  my  lord. — Light  to  my  chamber,  ho ! 
Afore  me,  it  is  so  very  late,  that  we  34 


May  call  it  early  by  and  by : — Good  niglit. 


\_Exeunt. 


Scene  V.     Juliet's  chamber. 

Enter  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

yul.     Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day : 


28.  there\  therms  Rowe,  &c. 

29.  My  lord'\  Separate  line,  Ff. 

30.  <j']  Capell.    a  QqFf.    on  Pope. 

31.  [To  Lady  Capulet.  Rowe,  &c. 

34,  35.  Afore. ...very  late....by'\  Ar- 
ranged as  in  Theob.  One  line,  Qq. 
Afore. ..so  late. ..by  One  line,  Ff,  Rowe. 

Fore. ..so  late. ..by  Johns,  (ending  first 
line  at  call).  Now,  afore...very  late...by 
Capell  (ending  first  line  at  late).  Afore... 
very,  very  late. ...by  (QJ  Dyce  (ed.  l), 
Cham.  Cambr.  (ending  first  line  at  late). 

Afore  me,"]  Afore  me  I  Coll.  Ulr. 
Del.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  White,  Ktly. 

it  is'\  ^tis  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

35.  Good  night']  Separate  line,  Qq 
Ff,   Rowe,   Pope,   Han.  Capell,   Dyce 


(ed.  i),  Cham.  Cambr, 

Scene  v.]  Rowe.  Scene  vii.  Pope 
Act  IV.  Scene  i.  Capell. 

Juliet's  chamber.]  Steev.  The  Garden, 
Rowe.  ...looking  to  the  Garden.  Theob. 
Anti-room  of..,.  Capell.  Loggia  to.... 
Knt.  Verp.  An  open  Gallery  to,., .over- 
looking the  Orchard.  Dyce.  Juliet's 
Bedchamber ;  a  window  open  upon  the 
Balcony.  White.  Capulet's  Orchard. 
Cambr. 

Enter...]  Steev.  Enter.,.alofi:,  QqFi, 
Ulr.  Enter... above,  at  a  Window;  a 
Ladder  of  Ropes  set,  Rowe,  &c.  Ro- 
meo and  Juliet  discovered.  White. 
....above,  at  the  window.  Cambr. 

I.     ^/'...fl'aj'.-]  om.  FjFjF^,  Rowe. 


with  all  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  feast,  and  then  Capulet  continues,  *  Well, 
keep  no  great  ado,'  &c.  The  following  lines  to  And  there  an  end  are  addressed  to 
his  wife ;  then  he  turns  to  Paris  with,  '  But  what  say  you  to  Thursday  ?'  It  was 
easier  to  corrupt  well,  keep  (the  more  peculiar  expression)  into  we'll  keep,  than  the 
reverse. 

34,  35.  Afore  .  .  .  night]  Dyce  (ed.  i).  The  arrangement  of  Theobald's  [fol- 
lowed by  Dyce  himself  in  (ed.  2)]  is  evidently  against  the  author's  intention;  and 
compare  the  close  of  the  preceding  scene. 

Enter  Romeo]  Mal.  They  appeared,  probably,  in  the  balcony,  erected  on  thr 
old  English  stage.     \^Sing.  Huds. 


I  go  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  in.  sc.  t. 

It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear; 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree : 

4.     yon\  (QJ  Warb.    _>'£>«£/ QqP'f,  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Cambr.    yond''  Huds.  Ktly. 

Knt.  To  understand  these  directions  we  must  refer  to  the  construction  of  the  old 
theatres.  •  Towards  the  rear  of  the  stage,'  says  Malone,  '  there  appears  to  have 
been  a  balcony  or  upper  stage,  the  platform  of  which  was  probably  eiglit  or  nine  feet 
from  the  ground.  I  suppose  it  was  supported  by  pillars.  Hence,  in  many  of  our 
old  plays,  part  of  the  dialogue  was  spoken,  and,  in  front  of  it,  curtains  likewise  were 
hung,  so  as  occasionally  to  conceal  the  persons  in  it  from  the  audience.  At  each 
side  of  this  balcony  was  a  box  very  inconveniently  situated,  sometimes  called  the 
private  box.  In  these  boxes,  which  were  at  a  lower  price,  some  persons  sate,  either 
from  economy  or  singularity.'  The  balcony  probably  served  a  variety  of  purposes. 
Malone  says,  '  When  the  citizens  of  Anglers  are  to  appear  on  the  walls  of  their 
town,  and  young  Arthur  to  leap  from  the  battlements,  I  suppose  our  ancestors  were 
contented  with  seeing  them  in  the  balcony  already  described,  or  perhaps  a  few 
boards  tacked  together  and  painted  so  as  to  resemble  the  rude  discolored  walls  of 
an  old  town,  behind  which  a  platform  might  have  been  placed  near  the  top,  on 
which  the  citizens  stood,'  It  appears  to  us  probable  that  even  in  these  cases  the 
balcony  served  for  the  platform,  and  that  a  few  painted  boards  in  front  supplied  the 
illusion  of  wall  and  tower.  There  was  still  another  use  of  the  balcony.  Accord- 
ing to  Malone,  when  a  play  was  exhibited  within  a  play,  as  in  Hamlet,  the  court,  or 
audience,  before  whom  the  interlude  was  performed,  sate  in  the  balcony,  [//a/.] 
We  prefix  a  representation  of  the  old  stage  with  its  balcony  engraved  in  the  title- 
page  to  Alabaster's  Latin  Tragedy  of  Roxana,  1632. 

Verplan'CK.  The  scene  in  the  Poet's  eye  was  doubtless  the  large  and  massy  pro- 
jecting balcony  before  one  or  more  windows,  common  in  Italian  palaces  and  not 
unfrequent  in  Gothic  civil  architecture.  The  loggia,  an  open  gallery,  or  high  ter- 
race, communicating  with  the  upper  apartments  of  a  palace,  is  a  common  feature  of 
Palladian  architecture,  and  would  also  be  well  adapted  to  such  a  scene. 

W^HITE.  The  place  meant  is  plainly  the  very  same  in  which  Romeo  surprises 
yuliet  confessing  to  herself  her  love  for  him ;  but  in  this  edition  the  stage-directions 
have  been  conformed  to  the  poet's  imagination  of  the  scene. 

4.  Nightly]  Steev.  This  is  not  merely  a  poetical  supposition.  It  is  said  of  the 
nightingale  that,  if  undisturbed,  she  sits  and  sings  upon  the  same  tree  for  many 
weeks  together.  [Singer  adds :  As  almost  all  birds  sing  only  during  the  period  of 
incubation,  this  may  be  accounted  for;  the  male  bird  sings  near  where  the  frmale 
is  sitting.]  What  Eustathius,  however,  has  observed  relative  to  a  fig-tree  mentioned 
by  Homer  in  his  12th  Odyssey,  may  be  applied  to  the  passage  before  us:  'These 
particularities,  which  seem  of  no  consequence,  have  a  very  good  effect  in  poetry,  as 
they  give  the  relation  an  air  of  truth  and  probability.  For  what  can  induce  a  poet 
to  mention  such  a  tree  if  the  tree  were  not  there  in  reality?'     \^Sta. 

Knt.  In  the  description  of  the  garden  in  Chaucer's  translation  of  the  '  Romaunt 
of  the  Rose,'  the  pomegranate  is  first  mentioned  amongst  the  fruit-trees.  The 
'orchard  of  pomegranates  with  pleasant  fruits'  was  one  of  the  beautiful  objects  de- 
scribed by  Solomon  in  his  Canticles.  Amongst  the  fruit-bearing  trees,  the  pome- 
granate is  in  some  respects  the  most  beautiful ;  and  therefore,  in  the  south  of  Europt 


icrm,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  I9I 

Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale.  5 

Rom.     It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale :  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east : 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 

6.     ofthelofY^^^. 

and  in  the  East,  it  has  become  the  chief  ornament  of  the  garden.  But  where  did 
Sh.  find  that  the  nightingale  haunted  the  pomegranate  tree,  pouring  forth  her  song 
from  the  same  bough  week  after  week  ?  Doubtless  in  some  of  the  old  travels  with 
which  he  was  familiar.  Chaucer  puts  his  nightingale  '  in  a  fresh  green  laurel  tree ;' 
but  the  preference  of  the  nightingale  for  the  pomegranate  is  unquestionable.  '  The 
nightingale  sings  from  the  pomegranate  groves  in  the  day  time,'  says  Russel  in  his 
account  of  Aleppo.  A  friend,  whose  observations  as  a  traveller  are  as  acute  as  his 
descriptions  are  graphic  and  forcible,  informs  us  that  throughout  his  journeys  in  the 
East  he  never  heard  such  a  choir  of  nightingales  as  in  a  row  of  pomegranate  trees 
that  skirt  the  road  from  Smyrna  to  Boudjia.  In  the  truth  of  details  such  as  these 
the  genius  of  Sh.  is  as  much  exhibited  as  in  his  wonderful  powers  of  generalization. 
'iHudz.  Sta. 

6.  the  lark]  Knt.  Sh.'s  power  of  describing  natural  objects  is  unequalled  in  this 
beautiful  scene,  which,  as  we  think,  was  amongst  his  very  early  productions.  The 
Venus  and  Adonis,  published  in  1593,  is  also  full  of  this  power.  Compare  the  fol- 
lowing passage  with  the  description  of  morning  in  the  scene  before  us : 

'  Lo  !  here  the  gentle  lark,  weary  of  rest, 

From  his  moist  cabinet  mounts  up  on  high, 
And  wakes  the  morning,  from  whose  silver  breast 

The  sun  ariseth  in  his  majesty ; 
Who  doth  the  world  so  gloriously  behold 
That  cedar-tops  and  hills  seem  bumish'd  gold.'    [Huds. 

9.  Night's  candles  are]  Blakeway.   Thus  Sophocles  : 

—  axpat  WKTOt,  rivl\  iuvepoi 
Aa/ii7rT^pes  oiiiceT'  ^0ov. — Ajax,  285.     IStn^. 

Sta.  [thus  translates]  :  'At  dead  of  night,  \Vhat  time  the  evening  tapers  haa  ex- 
pired.' But  Sh.  certainly  meant  the  stars,  while  Sophocles  seems  only  to  have 
thought  of  the  less  poetical  lamps  of  earth. 

Jeffrey  (Edin.  Rev.,  Aug.  1817).  If  the  advocates  for  the  grand  style  object  to 
this  expression,  we  shall  not  stop  to  defend  it ;  but  to  us  it  seems  equally  beautiful, 
as  it  is  obvious  and  natural,  to  a  person  coming  out  of  a  lighted  chamber  into  the 
pale  dawn.  The  word  candle,  we  admit,  is  rather  homely  in  modem  language, 
while  lamp  is  sufficiently  dignified  for  poetry.  The  moon  hangs  her  silver  lamp  on 
high  in  every  school-boy's  copy  of  verses ;  and  she  could  not  be  called  the  candle 
of  heaven  without  manifest  absurdity.  Such  are  the  caprices  of  usage.  Yet  we 
like  the  passage  before  us  much  better  as  it  is  than  if  the  candles  were  changed  into 
lamps.  If  we  should  read, '  The  lamps  of  heaven  are  quenched,'  or  '  wax  dim,'  the 
whole  charm  of  the  expi  ession  would  be  lost — our  fancies  would  no  longer  be  re- 
called to  the  privacy  of  hat  dim-lighted  chamber  which  the  lovers  were  so  reluc- 
\antly  leaving. 


192 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  III,  sc.  T 


Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops : 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 

Jul.     Yon  light  is  not  day-light,  I  know  it,  I : 
It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales, 
To  be  to  thee  this  night  a  torch-bearer, 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua : 
Therefore  stay  yet,  thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 

Rom.     Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death ; 
I  am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 
I'll  say  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
'Tis  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow ; 


10 


15 


20 


10.  mountain]  mountaines  QjQ.F^ 
Q  .  mountaines  top  Eng.  Par.*  moun- 
tains^ Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Capell,  Knt. 
mountain-tops  Ktly. 

12.  Yon]  (QJF^.  Yond  QqF.F.Fj, 
Sing.  (ed.  2),  Cambr.  Yond^  Huds. 
Ktly. 

it,  /]  it  well  Pope,  &c.   it  Johns, 
cm.  Com. 

13.  sun]  fen  or  fens  Anon,  conj.* 


16.  Therefore. ...gone.]  Then  stay  a 
while,  thou  shalt  not  go  so  soon  Pope,  &c. 
from  (Q.). 

stay  yet,]  QqF.F^Fj.    stay  yet; 

Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.WTiite,  Cambr.  stay 

yet  F^.  stay,  yet  Rowe.  stay, — yet  Dyce. 

need'' St  not  to  be]  needest  not  bt 

% 

20.     brow]  bow  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.), 

Sing.  (MS.),  Ulr.  Huds. 


14.  torch-bearer]  Todd.  Compare  Sidney's  Arcadia  (ed.  13)  p.  109:  'The 
moon,  then  full  (not  thinking  scorn  to  be  a  torch-bearer  to  such  beauty),  guided  hei 
steps.'  And  Sir  J.  Davies's  Orchestra,  1596,  st.  vii,  of  the  sun:  '  WTien  the  great 
torch-h^rer  of  heaven  was  gone  Downe  in  a  maske  unto  the  Ocean's  court.'  And 
Drayton's  Eng.  Heroic.  Epist.,  p.  221,  where  the  moon  is  described  with  the  stars: 
'  Attending  on  her  as  her  torch-bearers.'     [Sing. 

17.  Let  me  be  ta'en]  Sing,  quotes  Boswell  that  tliis  speech  is  better  in  Q,. 

20.  Cynthia's  brow]  Coll.  \^ Notes  end  Emend.'].  Cynthia's  *brow'  would 
not  occasion  a  '  pale  reflex,'  and  by  the  omission  of  one  letter  the  light  is  at  onc« 
cleared, — '  Cynthia's  bow.' 

Sing.  {'Sh.  Vindicated'^.  The  (MS.)  correction  is  quite  unexceptionable,  as  an 
easy  amendment  of  an  evident  misprint. 

Ulr.  Collier's  (MS.)  correction  recommends  itself  for  this  reason,  that  the  reflex 
of  Cynthia's  '  bow'  properly  refers  only  to  the  setting  moon  (Diana,  who  turns  hei 
back  upon  the  lovers),  whereas  the  reflex  of  Cynthia's  •  brow'  or  '  eye'  would  indi 
cate  that  the  moon  was  just  rising. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).   The  r  is  deleted  in  my  F^. 

Sta.  The  (MS.)  substitution  of  bow  is  a  very  happy  conjecture,  and  one  which  cer- 
tainly affords  a  better  reading  than  the  old  text.  It  must  be  remembered,  however, 
that  brow  is  the  word  in  all  the  ancient  copies,  and  that  Sh.  has  allowed  himself 
great  latitude  in  the  use  of  it  in  other  places.  In  Othello  we  meet  with  the  '  brow 
of  the  sea,'  and  in  King  John  with  the  'brow  of  night.'     \_Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Dyce  (ed.  l).     'Brozu"  suits  the  context  ('<y^)  better  than  '  bow.' 

Coll.  (ed.  2).    Such  a  confirmation  [the  erasure  of  the  r  in  Singers  FJ,  sup 


ACT  III,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  IQ3 

Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 

The  vaulty  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads : 

I  have  more  care  to  stay  than  will  to  go : 

Come,  death,  and  welcome !  Juliet  wills  it  so. 

How  is't,  my  soul  ?  let's  talk,  it  is  not  day.  35 

yul.     It  is,  it  is  :  hie  hence,  be  gone,  away ! 
It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune. 
Straining  harsh  discords  and  unpleasing  sharps. 
Some  say  the  lark  makes  sweet  division ; 

This  doth  not  so,  for  she  divideth  us  :  30 

Some  say  the  lark  and  loathed  toad  change  eyes ; 

22.  heaven\  Heavens  Y ^ ^,'R.ovfe.  talk,"]  talke  Q^Qj.     talk;  Camp. 

23.  care....will^    will.. ..car:  Johns.         Com.     talk, —  Dyce.     /a/-^.*  Cambr. 
conj.  31.     change']  changed  Rowe  (ed.  2)*, 

25.  How. .. .soul  ?]  What  says  my  ?  Huds.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Ktly.  (M. 
love?  (QJ  Pope,  Han.  Ma —     and  S.  Walker  conj.). 

posing  (as  we  conclude  was  the  case,  though  Singer  says  nothing  on  the  point)  that 
the  erasure  was  made  near  the  time  of  the  publication  of  F^,  is  valuable. 

Dyce.  (^Strictures,'  &c.,  1859,  p.  165).  I  really  cannot  see  any  objection  to  the 
expression  '  brow,' — meaning,  not  as  Collier  explains  it,  '  eye-brow,'  but  *  forehead' 
(in  I,  iii,  39,  '  broke  her  brozti').  Surely  it  is  no  more  exceptionable  than  '  Phoebus* 
front' — i.e.,  forehead — in  Lear  II,  ii,  114. 

Clarke.  » Cynthia'  is  one  of  the  names  of  Diana  (from  Mount  Cynthus,  where 
she  was  bom),  and  she  is  classically  represented  with  a  crescent  moon  upon  her  fore- 
head. It  is  the  pale  reflection  of  this  omament  of  Luna's,  or  Cynthia's,  brow,  there- 
fore, that  is  here  beautifully  alluded  to. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).    [^Bov/I  may  be  right. 

20.  division]  Nares.  To  make  divisions  in  music  is  to  run  a  simple  strain  into 
a  great  variety  of  shorter  notes  to  the  same  modulation.     \^Dyce. 

Sing.     A  division,  in  music,  is  a  variation  of  melody  upon  some  given  funda 
mental  harmony.     See  i  Hen.  IV:  III,  i,  210 :  '  Sung  by  a  fair  queen  in  a  sum- 
mer's bower,  With  ravishing  division  to  her  lute.'      This  verse,  Stephen  Weston 

observes,  might  serve  for  a  translation  of  a  line  in  Horace :  * grataque  feminis 

Imbelli  cithara  carmina  divides.'     \_Huds. 

Knt.  a  number  of  quick  notes  sung  to  one  syllable  ;  a  kind  of  warbling,  which 
prevailed  in  vocal  music  till  rather  recently.  [  Verp.]  Handel,  governed  by  custom 
rather  than  by  his  own  better  taste,  introduces  divisions  into  many  of  his  airs  and 
choruses.  [Hal."]  Steevens,  in  his  note  on  this  word,  mistakes  the  meaning 
entirely. 

Sta.  It  is  what  we  now  term  variation ;  where,  instead  of  one  note,  two,  three 
or  more  notes  are  sung  to  one  syllable  or  to  one  chord.     [  White,  subs. 

31.  loathed  toad]  Heath.  If  the  toad  and  lark  hid  changed  voices,  the 
unnatural  croak  of  the  latter  would  have  been  no  sign  of  the  appearance  of  day,  and 
consequently  no  signal  for  her  lover's  departure.  \_Sing.  Co7-n.  Verp.  Huds.  Cham. 
Sta. 

Ware.  The  toad,  having  very  fine  eyes,  and  the  lark  very  ugly  ones,  was  the 
17  N 


194  ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  [act  m,  sc « 

O,  now  I  would  they  had  changed  voices  too ! 
Since  arm  from  arm  that  voice  doth  us  affray, 
Hunting  thee  hence  with  hunts-up  to  the  day. 

J2.     would  they  had"]  ivot  they  have  33,  34.     om.  Pope,  &c.  (Johns.). 

Han.  Warb.  34.     hence"]  up  Johns. 

occasion  of   a  common  saying  amongst  the  people,  that  the  toad  and  lark   kriJ 
changed  eyes.     [^Sing.  Verp.  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce,  Cham.  Hal. 

Johns.  This  tradition  of  the  toad  and  the  lark  I  have  heard  expressed  in  a  rustic 
-hyme:  'To  heav'n  I'd  fly,  But  that  the  toad  beguil'd  me  of  mine  eye.'  \_Sing, 
Com.  Verp.  Hal. 

34.  hunts-up]  Steev.  The  tune  anciently  played  to  wake  and  collect  the 
hunters.  In  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  Song  13th :  '  But  hunts-up  to  the  mom  the 
feather'd  sylvans  sing.'     [^Sing.  Huds.  White,  Clarke. 

RiTSO.N'.  Puttenhain,  in  his  Art  of  English  Poesy,   15S9,  speaking  of  one  Gray, 
says  :  '  WHiat  good  estimation  did  he  grow  into  with  King  Henry  [the  Eighth]  .  . 
for  making  certaine  merry  ballr.ds,  whereof  one  chiefly  was  '  The  Hunte  is  up,  the 
Hunte  is  up.^     \^Sing.  Knt.  Huds. 

Mal.  It  also  signified  a  morning  song  to  a  new-married  woman,  the  day  after  her 
marriage,  and  is  certainly  used  here  in  that  sense.  See  Cotgrave's  Diet.,  s.  v. 
Res\'eil.     \^Sing.  Huds.  Clarke. 

Douce.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  following  was  the  identical  song  composed 
by  the  person  cf  the  name  of  Gray  jnentioned  in  Ritson's  note.  It  occurs  in  a  col- 
lection entitled  Hunting,  hawking,  &c.     There  was  likewise  a  country-dance  with  a 

similar  title. 

,p         (  The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

'  Sing  merrily  wee,  the  hunt  is  up ; 
The  birds  they  sing.  The  Deare  they  fling, 

Hey,  nony,  nony-no ; 
The  hounds  they  crye.  The  hunters  flye, 
Hey  trolilo,  trololilo. 
The  hunt  is  up,'  ut  supra. 

[Knight  gives  one  stanza  which  he  thinks  '  will  satisfy  his  readers.'  So  think* 
the  piesent  Editor  also.] 

Sing.  So  in  Drayton's  Third  Eclogue :  '  Time  plays  the  hunts-up  to  thy  sleepy 
head.'     \_Clarke. 

Coll.  It  was  also  used  for  any  morning  song.  See  Chappell's  '  National  English 
Airs,'  vol.  ii,  p.  147,  where  all  that  is  known  on  the  subject  is  collected.  '  The 
hunt  is  up,'  an  expression  of  the  chase,  as  appears  by  the  following  from  A.  Mun- 
day's  '  Two  Italian  Gentlemen,'  printed  about  1584 :  '  The  hunt  is  up,  And  fooles  be 
fledgde  before  the  perfect  day.'     [  Verp. 

Sta.  '  Any  song  intended  to  arouse  in  the  morning, — even  a  love-song, — was  fo*  • 
merly  called  a  hunt^s-up  ;  and  the  name  was,  of  course,  derived  from  a  tune  or  song 
employed  by  ea'ly  hunters.  Butler,  in  his  Principles  of  Musi k,  1636,  defines  a 
kunt^s-up  as  "  morning  music;"  and  Cotgrave  defines  "  Resveil"  as  a  hunt's-up,  or 
Morning  Song,  for  a  new-married  wife.'  See  W.  Chappell,  Popular  Music  of  thi 
Olden  Time,  &c. 

The  following  song,  which  is  taken  from  a  manuscript  in  Mr.  Collier's  possession, 
l»  of  the  character  of  a  love-song : 


ACTHi,  scv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  1 95 

O,  now  be  gone;  more  light  and  light  it  grows.  35 

Rom.     More  light  and  light  ? — More  dark  and  dark  our  woes ! 

Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse.     Madam ! 

Jul.     Nurse? 

Nurse.     Your  lady  mother  is  coming  to  your  chamber :         39 

35.  light  z/]    ////  ght  Fj.      it  light  Enter...]  Rowe.     Enter  Madame  and 
FjF  F  .                                                                 Nurse.    QqFf.      ...to  the  door,    Capell. 

36.  light  ? — More'\    Theob.      light,         ...to  the  chamber.  Cambr. 

more  QqF"f,  Rowe.     light, — more  Dyce.  38.     Nurse .?]  Theob.     Nurse.  QqFf, 

light  I   more   Sta.  Ktly,      light:    more        Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 
C:ambr.  Ktly. 

THE    NEW    HUNT'S-UP. 


The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

Awake,  my  lady  free  ; 
The  sun  has  risen,  from  cut  his  prison, 

Beneath  the  glistering  sea. 

'  The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

Awake,  my  lady  bright ; 
The  morning  lark  is  high  to  mark 
The  coming  of  day-light. 


'  The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

Awake,  my  lady  dear  ; 
A  mom  in  spring  is  the  sweetest  thing 
Cometh  in  all  the  year. 

'  The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up,  , 

Awake,  my  lady  sweet ; 
I  come  to  thy  bower,  at  this  lov'd  hour. 
My  own  true  love  to  greet' 


Halliwell.  The  hunts-up  was  a  tune  played  on  the  horn,  under  the  windows  of 
sportsmen,  very  early  in  the  morning.  Hence  the  term  was  applied  to  any  noise  of 
an  awakening  or  alarming  nature.  'A  hunt  is  up  or  musike  plaid  under  one's 
window  in  a  morning.' — Florio,  p.  304.  ^Resveil,  a  hunts-up,  or  morning  song  for 
a  new-married  wife  the  day  after  the  marriage.' — Cotgrave,  'Hunsup,  a  clamour,  a 
turbulent  outcry.' — Craven  Gl.  Mr.  W.  H.  Black  discovered  a  document  in  the 
Rolls-house,  from  which  it  appeared  that  a  song  of  the  Hunt^s  up  was  known  as 
early  as  1536,  when  information  was  sent  to  the  council  against  one  John  Hogon, 
who,  '  with  a  crowd  or  a  fyddyll,'  sung  a  song,  with  some  political  allusions,  to  tkat 
tune.     Some  of  the  words  are  given  in  the  information : 

'The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up,  &c 
The  Masters  of  Arte  and  Doctours  of  Dyvynyte 
Have  brought  this  realme  ought  of  good  unyt^ 
Thre  nobyll  men  have  take  this  to  stay. 
My  Lords  of  Norff  Lorde  of  Surrey, 
And  my  Lorde  of  Shrewsbyrry  ; 
The  Duke  of  Suff.  myght  have  made  Inglond  mery.' 

The  words  were  taken  down  from  recitation,  and  are  not  given  as  verse.     Sc;  Col- 
lier's Shakespeare,  Introd.,  p.  288. 

'  Maurus  last  mom  at's  mistress  window  plaid 
An  hunt's  up  on  his  lute  ;  but  she  (its  said) 
Threw  stones  at  him  ;  so  he,  like  Orpheus,  there 
Made  stones  come  flying  his  sweet  notes  to  heare.' — Wits  Bt^art^  f6iy. 

36.  Enter  Nurse.]  Coll.  This  part  of  the  play,  in  (QJ,  reads  exactly  as  if  it 
had  been  hastily  made  up  from  imperfect  notes,  and  not  printed  from  any  authentic 
copy      Ou'  text,  here  a.*  elsewhere,  is  generally  that  of  Q^. 


ig6 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act.  hi,  sc.  V 


The  day  is  broke ;  be  wary,  look  about.  \Exit 

Jjil.     Then,  window,  let  day  in,  and  let  life  out. 

Rom.     Farewell,  farewell !  one  kiss,  and  I'll  descend. 

\_Romeo  descends. 

jhil.     Art  thou  gone  so  ?  my  lord,  my  love,  my  friend  ! 
I  must  hear  from  thee  every  day  in  the  hour, 
For  in  a  minute  there  are  many  days :  45 

O,  by  this  count  I  shall  be  much  in  years 
Ere  I  again  behold  my  Romeo ! 

Rom.     Farewell !     I  will  omit  no  opportunity 


40.  [Exit.]  om.  QqFf. 

41.  [op'ning  it.]  Capell.  They  go 
upon  the  Balcony.  White. 

42.  Rom.  Farewell. ..descend'^  Trans- 
ferred to  follow  line  35  by  Pope. 

[Romeo  descends.]  Theob.  om. 
QqFf.  Kisses  her,  and  goes  out  of  it. 
Capell.  He  goes  down.  Ulr.  Descends. 
Dyce,  Cambr.  He  begins  to  descend. 
Coll.  (ed.  2). 

43.  my...friend'\  (QJ  Bos.  Dyce, 
Cambr.  Ktly.  love,  Lord,  ay  husband, 
friend  QqF^,  Knt.  Com.  Coll.  et  cet. 


Love,  Lord  ah  Husband,  Friend  F^l- 
F^,  Rowe,  &c.   Capell.     my  love!   my 
lord !  my  friend  Mai.  Steev.  Har.  Sing, 
(ed.  l),  Camp.  Haz.  Clarke,    love,  lord  I 
my  husband,  friend  White  conj. 

44.    day  in  the  hour']  hour  in  the  day 
Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.) 

in  the']   V  the  Capell,  Var.  Knt. 
Sing.  Ktly. 

[Romeo  comes  down  by  the  Laddei 
into  the  Garden.  Rowe. 

48.     Farewell]  Separate  line  in  Qq 
Ff,  Rowe,  Dyce,  Cambr. 


43.  my  lord,  my  love,  my  friend]  Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  have  preferred  the  reading 
of  (Q,)  because  I  have  great  doubts  if  the  '  ay'  is  to  be  understood  as  equivalent  to 
^yei  (the  usual  old  spelling  of  it  in  that  sense  being  '/').  The  editor  of  F,  altered 
it  to  '  ah ;'  for  which  perhaps  it  was  intended. 

White.  Perhaps  'ay^  is  a  misprint  for  'my.'  The  reading  of  (Q,)  has  the  advan- 
tage of  ridding  the  line  of  the  awkward  and  unpoetic  word  '  husband,'  which  is  in 
no  sense,  except  legally,  a  counterpart  to  '  wife.'  But  in  the  word  '  friend'  there  was 
not  that  anticlimax  in  Sh.'s  time  that  there  is  now.  *  Friend'  was  then  used  to 
express  the  dearest  possible  relation,  even  between  the  sexes.  It  frequently  occurs 
in  that  sense  in  the  poem  Romeus  and  Juliet ;  and  in  the  very  passage  which  is 
here  dramatized,  Juliet,  in  her  distress  that  Romeo  will  neither  remain  with  her,  nor 
let  her  go  with  him,  exclaims  (and  Sh.  seems  to  have  remembered  it) : 

'  For  whom  am  I  becomme  unto  myself  a  foe, 

Disdayneth  me,  his  steadfast  ^r^jw/,  and  skomes  v&y  /rendskip  so. 

Nay,  Romeus,  nay,  &c. 

•  •••••• 

'  Then  Romeus  in  artnes  his  lady  gan  to  folde, 

Vf'iih  /rendly  kisse,  and  ruthftilly  she  gan  her  knight  beholde. 

With  solemne  othe  they  both  their  sorrowful  leave  do  take  ; 

They  sweare  no  stormy  troubles  shall  their  tUAdrj  /rendship  shake.' 

46.  by  this  count]  Steev.  '  Cert6  ego,  quae  fueram,  te  discedente,  puella,  Pro- 
tiaus  ut  redeas,  facta  videbor  anus.' — Ovid,  Epist.  \^Her.'\,  i,  [115-16].     \^SiHg. 

48.  Farewell]  S.  Walker  ('  Vers.,'  p.  268).  An  exclamation,  a  form  of  address, 
or  c  her  word,  or  short  phrase,  detached  in  point  of  construction  from  the  sentence 


ACT  III,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  197 

That  may  convey  my  greetings,  love,  to  thee. 

Jul.     O,  think'st  thou  we  shall  ever  meet  again  ?  50 

Rom.     I  doubt  it  not ;  and  all  these  woes  shall  serve 
For  sweet  discourses  in  our  time  to  come. 

3^/.     O  God !  I  have  an  ill-divining  soul. 
Methinks  I  see  thee,  now  thou  art  below, 

As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a  tomb :  55 

Either  my  eyesight  fails  or  thou  look'st  pale. 

Rom.    And  trust  me,  love,  in  my  eye  so  do  you : 

52.  our  time]  our  times  Q,,  Capell.  Capell,  Knt.  Corn.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  HuOa, 

53.  Jul.]  Ro.  Q^Qj.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 

54.  thee,  now]  Pope,     thee  nozv,  Q,  55.     [Romeo  descends.  Pope. 
Q^QjFf,  Rowe.     thee  now  Qj.                               57.     my\  mine  Rowe  (ed.  2)*,  &c 

belorv]  (Q,)  Pope,   so  lowe  QqFf,  eye]  eyes  Ed.  conj. 

which  it  introduces,  is  frequently  placed  by  itself,  apart  from  the  following  line.  I 
know  not  v/hether  the  collocation  of  elev,  <pEv^  Sec,  extra  metrum,  in  the  Greek 
tragedians,  can  be  considered  a.i  analogous  case. 

53.  ill-divining  soul]  Steev.  This  miserable  prescience  of  futurity  I  ha\e 
always  regarded  as  a  circumstance  particularly  beautiful.  The  same  kind  of  warning 
from  the  mind,  Romeo  seems  to  have  been  conscious  of,  on  his  going  to  the  enter- 
tainment at  the  house  of  Capulet.     \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta. 

Mal.  So  in  Venus  and  Adonis : 

•  The  thought  of  it  doth  make  my  feint  heart  bleed ; 
And  fear  doth  teach  it  divination  ; 
I  proiihesy  thy  death."  [Knt. 

Knt.  Coleridge  has  some  remarks  upon  Richard  II :  II,  ii,  10,  which  we  may 
properly  quote  here :  '  Mark  in  this  scene  Sh.'s  gentleness  in  touching  the  tender 
superstitions,  the  terr<s  incognita  of  presentiments,  in  the  human  mind ;  and  how 
sharp  a  line  of  distinction  he  commonly  draws  between  these  obscure  forecastings 
of  general  experience  in  each  individual,  and  the  vulgar  errors  of  mere  tradition. 
Indeed,  it  may  be  taken  once  for  all  as  the  truth  that  Sh.,in  the  absolute  universality 
of  his  genius,  always  reverences  whatever  :.rises  out  of  our  moral  nature.  He  never 
profanes  his  muse  with  a  contemptuous  reasoning  away  of  the  genuine  and  general, 
however  unaccountable,  feelings  of  mankind.' — ^Lit.  Rem.^  vol.  ii,  p.  174.  Sh.  has 
exhibited  the  feeling  under  three  different  aspects  in  this  play.  When  Romeo  utters 
his  presentiment  before  going  to  the  masquerade,  he  is  under  the  influence  of  hi» 
habitual  melancholy, — the  sentiment  of  unrequited  love,  which  colours  all  his 
imagination  with  a  gloomy  foreshadowing  of  coming  events.  In  the  passage  before 
us,  when  Juliet  sees  her  husband  '  As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a  tomb,'  we  have 
'  the  fear'  which  doth  '  teach'  her  heart  '  divination.'  But  Romeo  in  Act  V  has  a 
presentiment  directly  contrary  to  the  approaching  catastrophe ;  and  this  arises  out  of 
his  '  unaccustomed'  animal  spirits.  All  these  states  of  mind  are  common  to  the 
imagination  deeply  stirred  by  passionate  emotions.  Nothing  in  all  Sh.'s  philosophy 
appears  to  us  finer  than  the  deceiving  nature  of  Romeo's  presages  in  *he  last  Act  a* 
'iompared  with  'he  true-divining  fears  of  Juliet. 
17* 


198  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  ui,  sc.  v 

Dr>'  sorrow  drinks  our  blood.     Adieu,  adieu  !  \Exit. 

Jul.     O  fortune,  fortune  !  all  men  call  thee  fickle : 
If  thou  art  fickle,  what  dost  thou  with  him  60 

That  is  renown'd  for  faith  ?  Be  fickle,  fortune ; 
For  then,  I  hope,  thou  wilt  not  keep  him  long, 
But  send  him  back. 

La.  Cap.  [  WitJiin'\  Ho,  daughter !  are  you  up  ? 

Jul.     Who  is't  that  calls  ?  is  it  my  lady  mother  ? 
Is  she  not  down  so  late,  or  up  so  early  ?  65 

What  unaccustom'd  cause  procures  her  hither  ? 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.     Why,  how  now,  Juliet ! 

Jul.  Madam,  I  am  not  well. 

La.  Cap.     Evermore  weeping  for  your  cousin's  death  ? 
What,  wilt  thou  wash  him  from  his  grave  with  tears  ? 
An  if  thou  couldst,  thou  couldst  not  make  him  live ;  70 

Therefore  have  done :  some  grief  shows  much  of  love, 
But  much  of  grief  shows  stili  seme  want  of  wit. 

58.  [Exit.]  Exit  below.  Dyce.  66.    procures']  provokes  Han. 

59.  Scene    vi.     Juliet's    Chamber.  Returns  to  her  chamber.  \Vhite. 
Enter  Juliet.  Rowe.    Scene  viii.  Pope.  Enter  Lady  Capulet.]  Capell.     Enter 

61.     reno-ivn'dl  renowmd  Q^Q,.     re-         Mother.  QqFf  (in  line  63). 
nowni'd  Q^.  67.     /  am]   Pm  Pope,  Han.   Dyce 

63.  La  Cap.  [within]]  L.C.  [within.         (ed.  2). 

Capell.     La.  or  Lad.  QqFf.  70.     An]  Theob.    And  QqFf. 

64.  is  it]  Ff.  it  is  Qq,  Cambr.  couldst. ..couldst]  •wouldst...couldA 
Momm.  Coll.  (MS.) 

65.  Is. ..early?]  om.  Pope,  &c. 

58.  Dry  sorrow]  Clarke.  The  belief  that  grieving  exhausts  the  blood  and 
impairs  the  health  is  more  than  once  alluded  to  by  Sh.    See  Mid.  N.'s  D.,  HI,  ii,  97. 

66.  Enter  Lady  Capulet]  Mrs.  Jameson.  In  the  dialogue  between  Juliet  and 
her  parents,  and  in  the  scenes  with  the  Nurse,  we  seem  to  have  before  us  the  whole 
of  her  previous  education  and  habits ;  we  see  her,  on  the  one  hand,  kept  in  severe 
subjection  by  her  austere  parents,  and,  on  the  other,  fondled  and  spoiled  by  a  foolish 
old  nurse — a  situation  perfectly  accordant  with  the  manners  of  the  time.  Then 
Lady  Capulet  comes  sweeping  by,  with  her  train  of  velvet,  her  black  hood,  her  fan 
and  rosary — the  very  beau-ideal  of  a  proud  Italian  matron  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
whose  offer  to  poison  Romeo,  in  revenge  for  the  death  of  Tybalt,  stamps  her  with 
one  very  characteristic  trait  of  the  age  and  the  country.  Yet  she  loves  her  daugh- 
ter, and  there  is  a  touch  of  remorseful  tenderness  in  her  lamentations  over  her  which 
adds  to  our  impression  of  the  timid  softness  of  Juliet  and  the  harsh  subjection  in 
which  she  has  been  kept.     [  Verp. 

66.  procures]  Ware.    Procures  for  brings.     [Sing. 

72.  want  of  wit]   Ulr.    It  is  thoroughly  in  keeping  with  Lady  Capulet's  heart 


ACTin,  sc.  V.J  ROMEO   /fiVZ?   JULIET.  199 

yul.     Yet  let  me  weep  for  such  a  feeling  loss. 

La.  Cap.     So  shall  you  feel  the  loss,  but  not  the  friend 
Which  you  weep  for. 

Jul.  Feeling  so  the  loss,  75 

I  cannot  choose  but  ever  weep  the  friend. 

La.  Cap.     Well,  girl,  thou  weep'st  not  so  much  for  his  deith 
As  that  the  villain  lives  which  slaughter'd  him. 

jfiil.     What  villain,  madam  ? 

La.  Cap.  That  same  villain,  Romeo. 

yul.     Villain  and  he  be  many  miles  asunder.  8c 

God  pardon  him !  I  do,  with  all  my  heart ; 

75.     ■weep\  do  weep  Theob.,  &c.  Ca-  Ulr.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cambr. 

pell,  Ktly.  be'\   are  (QJ   Pope,  &c.  Capeli, 

Feeiing]     In    or    Bui   feeling  Var.  Coll.  Sing.  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  White, 

Mommsen  conj.  Hal. 

79.  same"]  om.  Han.  asunder.^  asunder!  Ktly. 

80.  Jul.]  Jul.  {Aside']  Han.  Johns.  81.     him']  om.  Q^QjF,. 

less  character  and  artificial  nature  that  she  should  consider  deep  feeling  an  indica- 
tion of  want  of  wit. 

75.  Feeling]  Mommsen.  Suppose  Sh.  has  for  once  committed  a  metrical  error 
{bonus  dormitat  Homerus),  what  harm  is  there  if  a  critic  correct  the  same?  Which 
shows  a  higher  estimate  of  Sh.,  and  of  the  nature  of  poetic  forms  in  general, 
the  critic  who  corrects  here  and  there  an  error  which  Sh.  himself  perhaps  over- 
looked, or  he  who  attributes  to  the  poet  many  hundreds  of  halting  verses  ?  I  think 
the  latter  shows  more  reverence  for  the  Printing  Offices  of  the  i6th  and  17th  centu- 
ries than  for  the  art  of  the  great  poet.  This  respect  for  the  printers  is  as  false  as  it 
is  convenient. 

80.  asunder]  Ktly.  I  have  placed  a  (!)  at  the  end  of  this  line;  for  Juliet  is 
evidently  speaking  here  in  the  ambiguous  manner  of  her  subsequent  speeches.  She 
means  an  indicative,  but  wishes  her  mother  to  understand  her  in  the  optative  mood. 
The  editors  of  the  last  century,  not  understanding  this,  have,  without  any  authority, 
changed  '  be'  to  are.  I  should  be  inclined  to  make  an  Aside  of  '  I  do  with  all  my 
heart,'  as  she  pretends  to  plan  his  death. 

80.  he  be]  Mommsen.  Be  in  consonance  with  he  is  very  frequent  in  Sh.  instead 
of  are. 

81-103.  God  ....  girl]  Cambr.  Instead  of  this  passage,  Pope,  printing,  .is  b» 
•ays,  =  more  agreeably  to  the  first  edition,'  gave  as  follows : 

'La.  Cap.    Content  thee  girl     If  I  could  find  a  man, 

I  soon  would  send  to  Mantua  where  he  is, 

And  give  him  such  an  unaccustora'd  dram 

That  he  should  soon  keep  Tybalt  company. 
yul.     Find  you  the  means,  and  I'll  find  such  a  man, 

For  while  he  lives,  my  heart  shall  ne'er  be  light 

'Till  I  behold  him — dead — is  my  poor  heart, 

Thus  for  a  kinsman  vext  ? 
L».  Cap.    Well,  let  that  pass. 

I  come  to  bring  thee  joyful  tidings,  girl.' 


V^-- 


2.JO  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  hi.  sc  v 

And  yet  no  man  like  he  doth  grieve  my  heart. 

La.  Cap.     That  is  because  the  traitor  murderer  lives. 

yul.     Ay,  madam,  from  the  reach  of  these  my  hands: 
Would  none  but  I  might  venge  my  cousin's  death !  85 

La.  Cap.     We  will  have  vengeance  for  it,  fear  thou  not : 
Then  weep  no  more,     I'll  send  to  one  in  Mantua, 
Where  that  same  banish'd  runagate  doth  live. 
Shall  give  him  such  an  unaccustom'd  dram 

83.  murderer^  Q,.   om.  QjQ/fQj.  Capell.  Var.  Knt.  Del.  Ktly. 

85.  IVould^  '  Would  Warb.  Johns.  89.     Shall... dr anil  That  shall  lestma 

In  this  arbitrary  change  he  is  followed,  as  usual,  by  Hanmer,  except  that  the  latter 
puts  a  full  stop  at '  vext.' 

84.  Ay,  madam]  Johns.  Juliet's  equivocations  are  rather  too  artful  for  a  mind 
disturbed  by  the  loss  of  a  new  lover.     \_Sing.  Clarke. 

Clarke.  It  appears  to  us  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  evasions  of  speech  here  used 
by  the  young  girl-wife  are  precisely  those  that  a  mind,  suddenly  and  sharply  awakened 
from  previous  inactivity,  by  desperate  love  and  grief,  into  self-conscious  strength, 
would  instinctively  use.  Especially  are  they  exactly  the  sort  of  shifts  and  quibbles 
that  a  nature  rendered  timid  by  stinted  intercourse  with  her  kind,  and  by  communion 
limited  to  the  innocent  confidences  made  by  one  of  her  age  in  the  confessional,  is 
prone  to  resort  to,  when  first  left  to  itself  in  difficulties  of  situation  and  abrupt 
encounter  with  life's  perplexities.  The  Italian-bom-and-bred  Juliet  is  made  by  our 
author  to  speak  and  act  with  wonderful  truth  to  her  southern  self.  The  miracle  is 
how  he,  who  could  draw  the  courageous  and  direct-hearted  Helena,  the  noble- 
minded  Portia,  the  transparent-souled  Imogen,  could  so  thoroughly  divine  and  so 
naturally  depict  the  manner  in  which  the  two  Italian  girl-wives,  Juliet  and  Desde- 
mona,  speak  and  act  in  accordance  with  their  southern  birth  and  breeding.  He  has 
drawn  them  exquisitely  gentle,  charming,  winning,  but  he  has  given  them  the  gen- 
tleness that  blights  into  timidity,  instead  of  the  gentleness  that  blossoms  into  moral 
courage,  and  has  shown  how  it  brings  fatal  results.  The  wonder  beyond  this  is, 
how,  with  all  his  faithful  denotement  of  the  underlying  defect  in  their  characters,  he 
has  yet  contrived  to  make  the  more  beautiful  portions  of  their  characters  so  ineffably 
lovely,  so  prevailingly  and  saliently  attractive. 

86.  We  will  have  vengeance]  Hartley  Coleridge  {^Essays^  &c.,  vol.  ii, 
p.  197).  The  perfect  nonchalance  with  which  this  horrid  proposition  is  uttered  by  a 
respectable  matron  proves  how  familiar  were  the  minds  and  ears  of  our  virtuous 
ancestors  to  deeds  at  which  their  demoralized  posterity  would  thrill  with  horror.  It 
might,  however,  be  Sh.'s  art  to  make  the  old  Capulets  unamiable,  that  our  sympathy 
with  Juliet  might  be  the  less  distracted  by  disapprobation  of  her  disobedience. 
Capulet's  speech  is  abr>ut  the  worst  that  Sh.  ever  wrote.  But  for  a  model  of  parental 
rebuke  and  paternal  despotism,  I  recommend  the  old  gent's  behavior  to  his  daughter 
throughout  the  scene.  Sh.  must  have  intended  to  show  the  vulgarity  of  rage ;  and 
true  it  is,  a  man  in  a  passion  is  never  a  gentleman — much  less  is  a  woman  a  lady. 
There  may  be  noble  anger,  as  in  Brutus;  but  then  it  must  be  just,  and  not  exceed 
the  bounds  of  self-possessior .  Even  Brutus  forgets  himself  a  little  when  irritated  by 
ti.e  ii»r-asion  -jf  the  men. 


ACT  III,  SC.  V.J 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


2Q1 


That  he  shall  soon  keep  Tybalt  company :  qo 

And  then,  I  hope,  thou  wilt  be  satisfied. 

Jul.     Indeed,  I  never  shall  be  satisfied 
With  Romeo,  till  I  behold  him — dead — 
Is  my  poor  heart  so  for  a  kinsman  vex'd. 

Madam,  if  you  could  find  out  but  a  man  95 

To  bear  a  poison,  I  would  temper  it. 
That  Romeo  should,  upon  receipt  thereof. 
Soon  sleep  in  quiet.     O,  how  my  heart  abhors 
To  hear  him  named,  and  cannot  come  to  him, 
To  wreak  the  love  I  bore  my  cousin  100 

Upon  his  body  that  hath  slaughter'd  him ! 

La.  Cap.     Find  thou  the  means,  and  I'll  find  such  a  man. 
But  now  I'll  tell  thee  joyful  tidings,  girl. 

Jul,     And  joy  comes  well  in  such  a  needy  time : 
V/hat  are  they,  I  beseech  your  ladyship  ?  105 


$n  him  so  sure  a  draught  Steev.,  1773, 
from  (Q,)  Var.  (Com.) 

93.  him — dead — ]  Pope.  him.  Dead 
QqFf.  him — Dead  Rowe.  him.  Dead — 
Knt.  (ed.  i).  him: — Dead  Sing.  (ed. 
2).     him — dead  ;  Ktly. 

94.  Is....hearf\  My  poor  heart  is 
Ktly. 

ve:^d.'\  vext  ?  Pope,  Johns. 
96.     /  would'\    I'd  so   Anon.   (ap. 
Rann)  conj. 

100.     lovel  tender  love  Anon  conj.* 


bore"]  ever  bore  Lettsom  conj. 
bore  unto  Anon,  conj.* 

cousin'\  QqF,,  Johns.  Knt.  Com. 
Dyce  (ed.  i),  White,  Cambr.  cozin, 
Tybalt  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  Capell,  Var.  et 
cet.  slaughter' d  cousin  Theob.  Warb. 
murder'd  cousin  Mai.  conj. 

103.  tidings'^  tiding  Q  . 

104.  needy'\  needful  (QJ  Pope,  &c. 
Capell,  Var.  Huds.  Sing.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

105.  /  beseech"]  beseech  Q^QjF,. 


94.  Is  my  poor  heart]  Ktly.  By  connecting  this  phrase  with  the  preceding 
•  dead,'  it  is  manifest  they  [both  Qq  and  folio — followed  by  all  the  edd.]  did  not 
understand  the  ambiguous  language  of  Juliet. 

100.  my  cousin]  Mal.  The  word  omitted  is  probably  an  epithet  to  cousin; 
tuch  as, — my  murdered  cousin.     [Dyce,  White. 

Sta.  We  rather  agree  with  Malone,  and  doubt  if  Tybalt  were  the  omitted  word. 

104.  a  needy  time]  Walker  ['Crit.,^  vol.  ii,  p,  80.  This  line  is  cited  as  one 
of  the  instances  where  awful,  dreadful,  needful,  and  the  like,  are  used  in  an  active 
sense.  He  therefore  cites  (Q,)].  Middleton,  W.  of  Solomon  Paraphrased,  Dyce, 
vol.  V,  p.  346 :  '  Decaying  things  be  needful  of  repair.'  I  have  met  with  needful, 
in  this  sense,  in  Walter  Scott.  Perhaps  he  caught  it  from  Sh. ;  or  is  it  a  Scotticism  ? 
Debates  in  the  '  Free  Presbjrterian  Assembly,'  as  reported  in  the  Glasgow  Constitu- 
tional of  May  24,  1843;    ^^'  Buchanan   says:    ' every  unprejudiced  mind 

would  admit  that,  if  a  Church  stood  in  need  of  advice,  the  Church  of  England  at 
this  time  was  eminently  needful  of  it.' 

LiTTSOM  [in  a  foot-mte  to  the  foregoing]  .  .  .  does  not  w^^i^^k  rather  mean  beg- 
garly, foverty-stri'ken  ?     \_Dyce  (ed.  2). 


:o:  S.S.VEO  A\D  yCUET.  [act  tn,  so  ▼. 

La,  Cap.    Well,  veil,  Idiou  hast  a  careful  fiidier,  child ; 
One  who.  to  put  tfaee  finom  diy  heaviness. 
Hath  sorted  out  a  sudden  day  of  joy. 
That  thou  expect'st  not,  nor  I  look'd  not  for. 

j^     Madam,  in  h^)py  time,  tvhat  day  is  that  ?  1 10 

Lau  Cap.     Marry,  my  child,  earh-  next  Thursii>-  r::>m. 
The  gallant,  yoong,  and  noble  gentleman. 
The  County  ^ris,  at  Saint  Peter's  Church. 
Shall  hsqipify  make  thee  there  a  jo\'ful  bride. 

jFmL    Now,  by  Saint  Peter's  Church,  and  Peter  too,  1 1 5 

He  shall  not  make  me  there  a  jov-fiil  bride. 
I  wonder  at  this  haste ;  that  I  must  wed 
Ere  he  that  should  be  ho^nnd  comes  to  woo. 
I  pray  yoo,  tell  my  lord  and  fiidier,  madam, 
I  win  not  marry  yet ;  and,  when  I  do,  I  swear,  1 20 

109.    djfw/V]  Rove  (cdL  2/^.     «-  114-     i-sfpt?^]  iafpfir  Q,Q^. 

ftttt  Q%FC  iirfry]  cm-  FC  Rows,  4c  KaL 

JbnFO  JWbr  F^  CoIL  Ulr.  DeL  IR^'Ute,  HoL 

HO.    dor]  dxr  Tt,  Or.  VTlske.  Ii&    siMtV]  mtst  Q,. 

113.     Gmmeyl  Cmmt  tf  Rove  (ed.  onv]  -ane  F^F^FJ. 

a).*  laoL     /janoBT.]  OB.  Pope,  Ac. 


':H^"i-    .-'  -  .-'.    "-__;  pj_-z5e  was  iterjected 

-ite  so  tr  T  t  speaker.     [Say.  Hmds, 

;  Lt:-:-  -.3  Warburtoti,  p.  loi :  'Aad  mxf  I  boI 


liasa 
IE3.  The  Cccm-.y  ?  1  - . ; '    7    ■  !•:  is  reciirked  diat  *  Paris,  tlko^^  m  oae 

-      -    ..         ;     _  .     _    .  .    -    -  3.y_        ^L  XflUV  to 

:Lr  CauKt ;  perhaps 
iTc  czkenkEspkt* 


.-.]     Sc  Borec,  •  x  cc^tJtht,  or  2b 


■■i  '-!:•*:  ::  ±e  h.ieliest 


fvses  ■xnM.  obIt  r 

K.- -  :  as  easilT  «" 


■*".ih  "Jfi; 

-t. 

j'-e  '3p- 

:  worse. 

^ 

he  cru- 

5.        IE 

ACTiii,sc.  vj  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  203 

It  shall  be  Romeo,  whom  you  know  I  hate, 
Rather  than  Paris.     These  are  news  indeed  I 

La.  Cap.     Here  comes  your  father ;  tell  him  S(   yourself, 
And  see  how  he  will  take  it  at  your  hands. 

Enter  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

Cap.     When  the  sun  sets,  the  air  doth  drizzle  dew;  125 

122.      These. .. indeed  r\  Given  to  La.  line  122. 

Cap.  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.)  125.     air\  ayre  Q^.    aire  Q^.    ear  h 

124.  Enter....]  Enter  Capulet,  at  a  Q^Qj^f.  Rowe,  Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del. 
Distance ;  Nurse  following.  Capell,  after  Huds.  Sta.  Ktly, 

in  calmer  moods.  Nay,  they  seem  necessary  in  order  to  show  her  violent  excit& 
ment  and  thereby  explain  her  conduct.  Moreover,  it  is  not  clear  how  these  wordl 
should  have  crept  into  the  text  if  they  had  not  originally  belonged  there. 

122.  These  are  news  indeed]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  These  words  indicate  the  sur- 
prise of  Lady  Capulet  at  the  intelligence  she  has  just  heard,  and  they  join  on  with 
the  utmost  exactness  to  what  follows  of  her  speech.  Strange  to  say,  the  blunder  of 
giving  this  exclamation  to  Juliet  has  never,  in  modem  times,  been  detected,  but  tht 
matter  is  set  right  in  the  (MS.).  The  mistake,  when  pointed  out,  seems  to  corred 
Itself. 

Ht'DS.  This  change  by  Collier's  (MS.),  though  not  necessary  to  the  sense,  seems 
well  worthy  of  being  considered. 

Dyce  ['Strictures,^  &c.,  1859).  It  seems  almost  impossible  that  any  or.e  shoald 
read  the  passage,  as  it  stands  in  the  old  copies,  without  percci\-ing  that  Juliet's  excla- 
mation has  reference  to  what  her  mother  has  said  a  little  before,  '  But  now  I'll  teU 
tiiee  joyful  tidings,  girl.' 

125.  the  air  doth. drizzle  dew]  Mal.  The  reading  of  Q^QjFf  is  philosophically 
trae,  and  perhaps  ought  to  be  preferred.  I  suspected,  when  this  note  was  written 
that  earth  was  the  poet's  word,  and  a  line  in  the  Rape  of  Lucrece  strongly  supporti 
that  reading :  •  But  as  the  earth  doth  weep  the  sun  being  set.^  \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta 
Hal. 

Steev.  When  our  author  in  A  Mid.  Su.m.  N.  D.  says:  'And  when  she  [the 
moon]  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower,'  he  only  means  that  every  little  flower  is 
moistened  with  dew,  as  if  with  tears,  and  not  that  the  flower  itself  drizzles  dew. 
This  passage  sufEciently  explains  how  the  earth,  in  the  quotation  from  the  Rape  of 
Lucrece,  may  be  said  to  weep.     [Sing.  Hal. 

RiTSON.  That  Sh.  thought  it  was  the  air  and  not  the  earih  that  drizzled  dew,  is 
e^ndent  from  other  passages.  So  in  King  John  :  •  Before  the  dew  of  evening  fallJ 
[.Sing. 

Coll.  (ed.  i),  Malone  fully  justifies  'eartV  (though  he  prints  air)  by  the  line 
ftxjm  Sh.'s  Lucrece. 

Huds.  This  is  scientifically  true ;  poetically,  it  would  seem  ber.er  to  read  air  in- 
stead of  earth. 

Dyce.  As  to  the  passage  from  our  author's  Lucrece,  Steevens  showed  long  ago 
thai  it  did  not  'justify  (what,  indeed,  could  ?)  such  an  ntler  absurdity  as  '  the  earth 
DRIZZLING  dew.' 


204  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  m,  sc.  ▼ 

But  for  the  sunset  of  my  brother's  son 

It  rains  downright. 

How  now !  a  conduit,  girl  ?  what,  still  in  tears  ? 

Evermore  showering  ?     In  one  little  body 

Thou  counterfeit'st  a  bark,  a  sea,  a  wind:  130 

For  still  thy  eyes,  which  I  may  call  the  sea. 

Do  ebb  and  flow  with  tears ;  the  bark  thy  body  is. 

Sailing  in  this  salt  flood ;  the  winds,  thy  sighs ; 

Who, — raging  with  thy  tears,  and  they  with  them, — 

Without  a  sudden  calm  will  overset  135 

Thy  tempest-tossed  body. — How  now,  wife ! 

Have  you  deliver'd  to  her  our  decree  ? 

La.  Cap.     Ay,  sir ;  but  she  will  none,  she  gives  you  thanks. 
I  would  the  fool  were  married  to  her  grave ! 

Cap.     Soft!  take  me  with  you,  take  me  with  you,  wife,       140 

127,128.     As  in  Q^QjFf.     One  line,  feitsaY^.     Thy  counterfeits  a  Y ^.     Thy 

The  rest.  Counterfeit 's  a  F^,  Rowe. 

129.  showering?     In. ...body"]     Qj.  132,     ij]  om.  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  Han. 
xhowring    in....body  ?    QjQjFf,    Rowe.  134.      Who'\  Which  Pope,  &c. 
xhmuring :  In...body?  Q^.  thy'\  the  Ff,  Rowe. 

130.  Thou     counterfeit'' st     a\     Q  .  1 38.     Ay,  Ji'r]  Sej-arate  line,  Ff 
Thou  countefaits.   A  Q^.     Thou  counter-  gives~\  give  Q,. 

faits.   A  Q  ,     Thou  counterfeits,  a  Q^.  thanks,'\  thankes.  Q.Q--   thanks? 

Thou  counterfaits  a  Y^.     Thou  counter-         Y  .     thankes,  Q,F,Fj.     thanks,  F  . 

White.  The  absurd  reading  '  earth'  is  probably  the  result  of  a  confusion  produced 
by  the  old  pronunciation  of  '  earth,'  airth,  which  has  survived  in  New  England. 
The  variations  in  old  Capulet's  speech  in  (Q,)  seem  not  due  to  the  manner  in  which 
that  text  was  obtained;  and  in  that  case  are  interesting  because  they  show  the 
manner  in  which  Sh.  worked  over  an  idea. 

Ktly.  To  talk  of  the  earth  drizzling  dew  appears,  no  doubt,  to  be  absurd ;  but 
expressions  as  incoigruous  occur  in  these  plays,  and  we  have  in  Lucrece,  '  But 
as,'  &c. 

Clarke.  It  must  be  b.>me  in  mind  that  in  each  of  these  passages  [cited  by  othei 
edd.  to  sustain  'earth''\  the  earth  is  poetically  represented  as  being  wet  with  dew, 
rather  than  shedding  dew ;  whereas  the  expression  '  drizzle,'  in  the  text,  denotes  the 
dropping  of  dew  in  the  same  way  that  Sh.  indicates  it  where  he  says,  Before  the  dew 
of  evening  yb//. — K.  John,  II,  i,  285. 

126.  brother's  son]  Clarke.  Probably  here  used  for  '  brother-in-law's  son,' as 
Lady  Capulet  says  in  the  first  scene  of  the  present  act,  •  Tybalt,  my  cousin !  Oh  my 
ircther's  child  r 

128.  a  conduit]  Mal.  The  same  image  occurs  more  than  once  in  the  old  poem 
of  Romeus  and  Juliet :  •  His  sighes  are  stopt,  and  stopped  are  the  conduits  of  his 
teares.'     [^Sing.  Huds. 

140.  take  me  with  you]  Huds.  Let  me  understand  you.  [5/a.  Clarke.'\  Like 
rt  i  Greek  phrase,  '  Let  me  go  along  with  you.' 


ACT  ni,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO  AND    JULIET.  205 

How !  will  she  none  ?  doth  she  not  give  us  thanks  ? 
Is  she  not  proud  ?  doth  she  not  count  her  blest, 
Unworthy  as  she  is,  that  we  have  wrought 
So  worthy  a  gentleman  to  be  her  bridegroom  ? 

jful.     Not  proud,  you  have,  but  thankful  that  you  have :      145 
Proud  can  I  never  be  of  what  I  hate ; 
But  thankful  even  for  hate  that  is  meant  love. 

Cap.     How  now !  how  now,  chop-logic !     What  is  this  ? 
*  Proud,'  and  '  I  thank  you,'  and  '  I  thank  you  not ;' 

141.     How !'\  How?    Qj.      How  Q^  How,  how,  howhow,  Q,.     How   nowf 

Q  Q^,  Momm.     How,Yi.  How  now?    FfQ,.      How^   how!  how, 

144.  bridegroom]  Bride  Q^,  Momm.  how  !  Capell,  Cambr. 

145.  Two  lines,  Ff.  chop-logic]    Steev.   (1793),  from 

146.  hate]  have  Ff.  (Q,).      chopt    lodgick    QjC^J^^.      chopt 

147.  that  is  meant]  that's  meant  logicke  or  logick  The  rest,  chop  logiek 
in  Q  .  Theob. 

148.  Two  lines,  Ff,  Rowe.  om.  (QJ  149,150.  *  I  thank...proud :']  yet  not 
Pope,  Han.  proud,.. .And  yet,  I  thank  you,  Lettsom 

How.,.now,]  Steev.  (1793).  Hovj        conj. 
now,  how  now,   QjQ^,   Dyce,   Clarke. 

Coleridge  {'Lit.  Rem.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  157).  A  noble  scene!  Don't  I  see  it  with 
my  own  eyes  ? — Yes !  but  not  with  Juliet's.  And  observe,  in  Capulet's  last  speech  in 
this  scene,  his  mirtake,  as  if  love's  causes  were  capable  of  being  generalized. 
IHuds. 

141.  how!  .  .  .none?]  Mommsen.  This  is  one  sentence,  and  equivalent  to 
'What  do  you  mean  by  that,  that  she  will  none?'  which  is  much  more  characteristic 
of  the  violent  Capulet  than  the  tame  and  disjointed  '  How  ?     Will  she  none  ?' 

144.  her  bridegroom]  Mommsen.  Q,  has  here  the  noteworthy  reading  Bride, 
I  must  leave  it  undecided  whether  or  not  this  is  also  to  be  found  elsewhere,  but  will 
call  attention  to  the  fact  that  bride  is  also  in  our  language  dialectic  for  bridegroom, 
although  Grimm  (Dt.  WSrterb,  ii,  p.  332)  considers  it  as  a  transferring  of  the  idea. 
It  was  also  Middle  High  German.  Compare  Miiller  Mhd.  Worterb.,  p.  273  f,  where 
a  passage  is  cited  from  Gotfrit  in  reference  to  Christ  as  the  spiritual  Bridegroom  : 
'  Vil  maniges  reinen  herzen  trilt,  Vil  maniger  reinen  megde  br&t.'  There  is,  in 
addition,  the  metrical  reason  that,  in  this  play,  supernumerary  syllables  [der  kling- 
ende  Ausgang]  are  comparatively  rare,  and  almost  wholly  confined  to  light  final 
syllables.  I  therefore  consider  it  better  to  disregard  the  sophistications  of  the  com- 
positor of  Q  . 

147.  is  meant  love]  Knt.   That  is,  meant  as  love. 

148.  chop-logic]  Steev.  This  term,  hitherto  divided  into  two  words,  I  hav« 
given  as  one,  it  being,  as  I  learn  from  The  XXIIII  Orders  of  Knaves,  bl.  I,  no 
date,  a  nickname :  *  Ckoplogyk  is  he  that  whan  his  mayster  rebuketh  his  servaunt  for 
his  defavtes,  he  will  gyve  hym  xx  wordes  for  one,  or  eWes  he  wyll  bydde  the 
deuylles  pater  noster  in  scylence.'  \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Clarke.]  In  The  Contention 
betwyxte  Churchyeard  and  Camell,  &c.,  1560,  this  word  also  occurs:  '  But  you  wyl 
ckoplcgyck  And  be  Bee-to-busse,'  &c.     \_^Hal. 

18 


2o6  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  hi,  sc.  t 

And  yet  'not  proud  :'  mistress  minion,  you,  150 

Thank  me  no  thankings,  nor  proud  me  no  prouds, 

But  fettle  your  fine  joints  'gainst  Thursday  next, 

To  go  with  Paris  to  Saint  Peter's  Church, 

Or  I  will  drag  thee  on  a  hurdle  thither. 

Out,  you  green-sickness  carrion!  out,  you  baggage!  155 

You  tallow-face! 

150.     om.  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Knt.  ap.WTiite  andDyce  (ed.  2).]    settle  Y^^ 

Corn.  F^,  Rowe,  Sic.  Capell,Var.  Knt.  (ed.  i), 

proud :^  Q^Q^.    proud  Q^Q^.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sing.  Huds.  Hal. 
tnistress\   why,  mistress   Theob.  155.    green-sickness']  Hyphen,  F'^. 

come,  mistress  Anon,  conj.*     Misteress  1 5  6.      You]  Out  you  Y ^,^^0-^^. 

Ktly.  tallow-face]  Hyphen,  F  . 

152.    fettle]    (Q.)QqF,.      {settle  (Q.) 

152.  fettle]  Nares.  To  go  intently  upon  any  business.  Certainly  an  English  word, 
being  acknowledged  by  our  old  dictionary-makers.  Phillips  has  '  to  fettle  to,  to  go 
about,  or  enter  upon  a  business.'  Kersey,  as  usual,  copies  him.  Coles  has,  '  to  fettle, 
te  accingere  ad  aliquid,  aggredior.'  Of  uncertain  derivation,  though  it  seems  like  a 
corruption  of  settle.  It  was,  probably,  always  a  familiar,  undignified  word,  and  still 
exists  as  a  provincial  term.  Ray  speaks  of  it  as  in  common  ure  in  the  north,  and 
defines  it,  '  to  set  or  go  about  anything,  to  dress  or  prepare.'  The  only  old  author 
hitherto  quoted  for  it  is  Hall,  SaJires,  B.  iv,  sat.  6 :  '  But  sells  his  team,  and  fettleth 
to  the  warre'  [cited  by  Staunton,  Keightley'].  I  can  add  Sylvester:  'They  to  theii 
long  hard  journey  fettling  them.  Leaving  Samaria  and  Jerusalem.' — Maiden's  Blush 
[cited  by  Keightley].  Swift  also  used  it  in  his  Directions  to  Servants.  See  Todd. 
In  the  Glossary  to  Tim  Bobbin,  we  have  fettle,  explained  as  a  sul^stantive  by  •  dress, 
case,  condition.' 

Sta.  To  fettle  means  to  prepare,  to  make  ready :  •  Wlien  the  sheriffe  saw 
Little  John  bend  his  bow.  He  fettled  him  to  be  gone.' — Percy's  Reliques,  i,  92, 
ed.  1767.  The  word  does  not  occur  again  in  our  author,  and,  curiously  enough,  it 
has  been  overlooked  in  this  passage  by  every  editor  from  Rowe  downwards. 

White.  The  misprint  is  so  very  easy,  and  both  words  are  so  well  adapted  to  the 
passage,  that  there  may  be  some  doubt  as  to  what  Sh.  wrote.  But  the  weight  of 
authority  is  in  favor  of  '  fettle.' 

Ktly.  I  cannot  conceive  why  the  editors  all  read  settle  for  ^fettle? 

156.  tallow-face]  Steev.  Such  was  the  indelicacy  of  the  age  of  Sh.  that 
authors  were  not  contented  only  to  employ  these  terms  of  abuse  in  their  own  original 
performances,  but  even  felt  no  reluctance  to  introduce  them  in  their  versi-ms  of  the 
most  chaste  and  elegant  of  the  Greek  or  Roman  poets.  Stanyhurst,  the  translator 
of  Virgil,  1582,  makes  Dido  call  i^neas  hedge-brat,  cullion  and  tar-breech  in  the 
course  of  one  speech.  [Huds.]  Nay,  in  the  Interlude  of  The  Repentance  of 
Mary  Magdalene,  1567,  Mary  Magdalene  says  to  one  of  her  attendants:  'Horeson, 
T  beshrowe  your  heart,  are  you  here  ?'     \_Sing. 

White.  It  is  intended,  of  course,  that  Capulet  should  be  vituperative ;  but  the 
terms  which  he  uses  did  not  excite  the  disgust  in  Gh.'s  time  that  they  do  now.  *  Car- 
caw'  ard  'carrion,'  and  even  kindred  words  that  we  do  not  now  write  or  speak, 


ACT  III,  SC.  V.J  ROM^o>  ^IVD   yC/LIET.  207 

La.  Cap.     Fie,  fie !  what,  are  you  mad  ? 

jfiiL     Good  father,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees, 
Hear  me  with  patience  but  to  speak  a  word. 

Cap.     Hang  thee,  young  baggage  !  disobedient  wretch ! 
I  tell  thee  what :  get  thee  to  church  o'  Thursday,  160 

Or  never  after  look  me  in  the  face : 
Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me ; 
My  fingers  itch. — Wife,  we  scarce  thought  us  blest 
That  God  had  lent  us  but  this  only  child. 

But  now  I  see  this  one  is  one  too  much  165 

And  that  we  have  a  curse  in  having  her : 
Out  on  her,  hilding ! 

Nurse.  God  in  heaven  bless  her ! — 

160.     <)']  Theob.   a  QqFf.  (Com.)   Sing.  Huds.  White,  Dyce  (ed. 

163.  itch.—  Wife,'\     Capell.       itch:         2),  Ktly.    ^// Clarke  conj. 

Wife,   Q  .     itch,    wife,   Q^QjQ^-     itch,  166.     cjtrse']  cross  WTiite  conj.  from 

wife:  Ff,  Rowe.  (QJ. 

164.  /ent^  sent  {QJ  Pope,  &c.  Vcr. 

were  then  used  without  indecency.  The  ideas  and  things  which  they  express  are 
talked  about  and  ever  must  be ;  it  is  only  the  words  that  have  degraded  in  process 
of  time.  This  is  the  general  tendency  of  language ;  it  is  very  rarely  that  words  are 
raised  permanently  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  grade  of  usage. 

Clarke.  Even  in  these  coarsely  abusive  terms  with  which  the  irate  old  man  loads 
ais  daughter,  how  well  the  dramatist  contrives  to  paint  and  set  before  our  imagina- 
tion the  pale  face  of  Juliet,  white  with  suppressed  feeling,  and  almost  livid  under 
the  momentary  impulse  to  throw  herself  at  her  father's  feet  and  confess  all. 

158,  159.  Hear  ....  wretch]  Clarke.  We  here  see  the  root  of  Juliet's  pre- 
varication ;  irrational  violence  if  she  attempt  to  offer  remonstrance  instead  of  blind 
obedience,  or  if  she  think  for  a  moment  of  honest  avowal.  This  is  the  way  to  con- 
vert original  candour  of  disposition  into  timid  misprision  of  truth,  and  artlessness 
into  artfulness. 

164.  lent  us]  White,  ['lent']  is  manifestly  a  misprint  due  to  the  mistaking  of 
along  J  ('f')  for'l.' 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Though  I  here  follow  the  earliest  authority,  I  see  nothing  objec- 
tionable in  the  reading  of  the  later  old  eds. 

Clarke.  We  think  it  possible  that  '  left'  may  have  been  originally  written  by  the 
author  here,  because  in  a  previous  scene  Capulet  speaks  as  if  he  had  had  other  chil- 
dren born  to  him,  who  died  young  (I,  ii,  14). 

166.  a  curse]  White.  [QJ  has  'crosse,'  &c.,  for  which  the  later  reading  is  pos- 
sibly a  misprint. 

167.  hilding]  Nares.  A  base,  low,  menial  wretch ;  derived  by  some  fircai  ^i» 
derling,  a  Devonshire  word  signifying  degenerate;  by  others,  from  the  Saxon  (see 
Todd's  Johnson).  Perhaps,  after  all,  no  more  originally  than  a  corruption  of  hireling 
w  kindling,  diminutive  of  hind.     It  was  applied  to  women  as  well  as  men. 

Cham.    Sax.  hyldan,  to  crouch. 


208 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[ACT  in,  sc.  ▼ 


You  are  to  blame,  my  lord,  to  rate  her  so. 

Cap.     And  why,  my  lady  wisdom  ?  hold  your  tongue, 
Good  prudence ;  smatter  with  your  gossips,  go.  170 

Nurse.     I  speak  no  treason. 

Cap.  O,  God  ye  god-den. 

Ntirse.     May  not  one  speak  ? 

Cap.  Peace,  you  mumbling  fool ! 

Utter  your  gravity  o'er  a  gossip's  bowl ; 
For  here  we  need  it  not. 

La.  Cap.  You  are  too  hot. 

Cap.     God's  bread!  it  makes  me  mad :  175 

Day,  night,  hour,  tide,  time,  work,  play, 


170.  prudence;  smatter]  Prudence 
smatter,  Q,. 

gossips,]  gossips  Q,.    gossip,  Ff, 
Rowe. 

171.  Cap.  O,  God  ye  god-den.]  Cap. 
O,  God-ye-good-den  ?  Capell.  Fa.  0 
Godigeden.  Q^Q,-  Father,  d  Godigeden, 
Q^Q  (continued  to  Nur.  as  also  in  Ff, 
Rowe,  &c.)  Father,  O  Godigoden,  F,. 
O  Godigoden,  F^F  .    O  God gi'  goode'en 

172.  Nurse.]  om.  Q^QjFf,  Rowe,  &c. 
Peace]    Peace,    peace    Theob, 

Warb.  Capell,  Ktly.  (Dyce  and  Momm. 
conj.) 

mumbling]  old  mumbling  Sey- 
mour conj. 


175-177.  God's  bread.... company] 
QqFf.  God's. ...work  and  play. ...com- 
pany Rowe  (ed.  2)*.  God's. .. .mad : 
day,  night,  late,  early,  At  home,  abroad ; 
alone,  in  company.  Waking  or  sleeping. 
Pope,  from  (QJ, &c.  Capell.Var.  (Com.) 
Dyce  (ed.  2).  As  God's  my  friend  t  it 
makes  me  mad :  Day,  night,  hundreds 
of  times,  at  work  at  play.  Alone,  in 
company  Bullock  conj.* 

175,  176.  Johns,  reads  //  makes... 
play  as  one  line,  omitting  God's  bread 
and  time. 

176.  time]  om.  Ktly,  reading  God's 
...provided  as  three  lines,  ending  tide,.., 
care.,  .provided. 


170.  Good  prudence]  Del.  Just  as  '  prudence' is  here  personified  as  a  female, 
it  was  in  The  Temp.  II,  i,  286,  personified  as  a  male. 

175.  God's  bread  .  .  .  company]  Ulr.  Malone  manufactured  a  text  out  of  the 
various  readings  of  the  old  eds.,  apparently  only  because  the  text  of  Q^Qj  and  Ff 
appeared  too  incorrect  in  its  versification.  But  this  incorrectness  admirably  suits  old 
Capulet's  blustering  outburst  of  rage,  and  the  imperfection  thereby  becomes  aD 
excellence. 

White.  Perhaps  the  composite  reading  given  by  Malone  very  nearly  approaches 
what  Sh.  wrote  on  the  revision  of  the  play, 

Ktly.  I  arrange  this  passage  in  accordance  with  the  old  eds.,  except  (Q,),  the 
reading  of  which  is  different,  and  is  not  verse  at  all.  I  omit  '  time*  as  injurious  to 
the  symmetry  of  the  language ;  for  the  words  in  the  first  two  lines  run,  as  will  be 
seen,  pairwise.  It  may  have  been  a  marginal  note  explanatory  of  '  tide.'  As  to 
line  177,  being  of  six  feet,  three  such  have  already  occurred  it.  this  scene. 

Clarke.  Here  the  solemn  expression  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  furious  Capulet  ia 
in  strict  accordance  with  what  we  still  hear  in  Italy  from  the  mouths  of  angry 
quarrelers;  who  often  use  its  equivalent  in  the  words,  ^Per  I'Ostial' 


ACT  III,  sc.  V.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  209 

Alone,  in  company,  still  my  care  hath  been 

To  have  her  match'd :  and  having  now  provided 

A  gentleman  of  noble  parentage. 

Of  fair  demesnes,  youthful,  and  nobly  train'd,  1 80 

Stuff 'd,  as  they  say,  with  honourable  parts, 

Proportion'd  as  one's  thought  would  wish  a  man ; 

And  then  to  have  a  wretched  puling  fool, 

179      noble\    princely   (Q,)    Capell,  nobly  train' (£"[  nobly-allied  \i&xu. 

Var.  Dyce  (ed.  2).  nobly-trained  Huds. 

180.     train'd]   (QJ    Capell.      allied  182.     thought    would]    heart    could 

Q^Q^FfQj,  Rowe,  &c.  Ulr.  Del.     Hand  (QJ  Capell,  Var.  Sing.  Knt.  (ed.  l),  Sta. 

Qj.      'lianc'd    Capell    conj.      lined   cr  Ktly. 
loin'd  Momm.  conj. 


178.  having  now  provided]  Mal.  There  is  a  passage  in  Wily  Beguil'd  so 
nearly  resembling  this  that  one  poet  must  have  copied  from  the  other.  Wily  Beguil'd 
was  on  the  stage  before  1596,  being  mentioned  by  Nashe  in  his  Have  With  You  to 
Saffron  Walden,  printed  in  that  year.     \^Sing. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  author  of  Wily  Beguiled  did  imitate 
Sh. ;  but  although  Wily  Beguiled  was  in  existence  before  1596,  we  have  no  copy  of 
it  earlier  than  1606.  Malone,  as  usual,  committed  various  errors  in  his  citation,  and 
among  others  printed  '  puling'  povuting,  which  so  far  lessens  the  resemblance.  We 
can  the  more  readily  believe  that  the  author  of  Wily  Beguiled  was  the  imitator  in 
this  case,  because  another  part  of  the  same  comedy  is  directly  borrowed  from  *  The 
March,  of  Ven.,'  V,  i. 

180.  train'd]  Ulr.  I  prefer  *  allied,'  because  it  follows  almost  of  necessity,  from 
the  character  of  old  Capulet,  that,  in  the  enumeration  of  Paris's  advantages,  he  would 
not  forget  his  kinship  to  the  Prince. 

180.  nobly  trained]  Mommsen.  This  [^liand  of  Q^]  might  be  metrically  toler- 
ated, but  it  might  be  that  Capulet,  having  described  Paris  as  a  gentleman  of  noble 
parentage,  should  go  on  to  enumerate  several  other  of  his  qualities,  and  then  once 
more  speak  of  him  as  nobly  allied,  which  would  be  simply  iterating  what  he  had 
just  said,  as  e.  g.  in  Marlowe,  ii,  p.  212 :  '  His  name  is  Spenser;  he  is  well  allied.' 
Rhetorical  pleonasms — like  '  The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood' — 
Macb.,  II,  iii,  103;  'Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  gorg'd  and  full' — i  Hen.  IV: 

III,  ii,  84;  '  Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty  From  any  dram  of  pity' — Mer.  of  Ven., 

IV,  i,  5 — would  prove  nothing  in  this  passage,  where  various  different  features  are 
introduced.  Therefore  most  of  the  later  edd.  have  adopted  nobly  train'd.  But  by 
Hand  might  have  been  meant  lined,  an  orthography  which,  it  is  true,  I  have  not 
met  with  elsewhere,  but  which  is  at  times  found  in  the  case  of  ire,  thus  intierly  for 
entirely,  wiars  for  wires  (in  How  to  Choose  a  Good  Wife  from  a  Bad,  1608,  4to) ; 
fier,  hier,  squier  not  seldom  ior  Jire,  hire,  squire;  just  as  the  reverse  is  often  found, 
lide,  tride  for  lied,  tried,  &c.  Then  too  nobly  lined  might  refer  to  his  purse ;  although 
loin'd  would  suit  youthful  better,  and  the  rude  style  of  the  speaker.  The  spelling 
ryall  for  royal  is  to  be  found  in  Heywood.  Perchance,  can  gryans,  Hans  be  found, 
aa  a  kind  of  drawling,  for  groins,  loins,  like  quire  for  choir  ?  Until  it  can  be  proved 
by  examples  which  of  the  two  words  is  meant,  we  must  fall  back  upon  the  conclu- 
sion that  allied  is  assuredly  corrupt. 

18»  f^ 


210  ROMEO   A  AD   JULIET.  [act.  in,  sc.  % 

A  whining  mammet,  in  her  fortune's  tender, 

To  answer  '  I'll  not  wed ; — I  cannot  love,  185 

I  am  too  young; — I  pray  you,  pardon  me.' — 

But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  I'll  pardon  you  : 

Graze  where  you  will,  you  shall  not  house  with  me: 

Look  to't,  think  on't,  I  do  not  use  to  jest. 

Thursday  is  near;  lay  hand  on  heart,  advise:  190 

An  you  be  mine,  I'll  give  you  to  my  friend ; 

An  you  be  not,  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  in  the  streets. 

For,  by  my  soul,  I'll  ne'er  acknowledge  thee. 

Nor  what  is  mine  shall  never  do  thee  good :  194 

Trust  to't,  bethink  you  ;  I'll  not  be  forsworn.  [Exit. 

Jul.     Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds, 
That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief? 
O,  sweet  my  mother,  cast  me  not  av/ay! 
Delay  this  marriage  for  a  month,  a  week ; 

Or,  if  you  do  not,  make  the  bridal  bed  200 

In  that  dim  monument  where  Tybalt  lies. 

La.  Cap.     Talk  not  to  me,  for  I'll  not  speak  a  word : 

184.     foriune'sl    Theob.  fortunes             192.    in  (he'\  QqFf,  Dyce,  Cambr.    t' 

QqFf,  Rowe,  Pope.  th'  Pope,  &c.White.    i '  the  Capell  et  cet. 

187,191,192.     an]  Capell.  and  Q(\             194.     ^^/^-r]  «rr  Q  O  ,  Pope,  &c. 

Ff.     ?/ Pope,  &c.  201.     i/zw]  a'«n  Johns.  (1771). 

184.  mammet]  Nares.  A  puppet,  or  doll;  a  diminutive  of  mam.  'Quasi  dicat 
par\-am  matrem,  seu  matronulam.' — Minshew.  ^Afammets,  puppets,  icunculae.' — 
Coles.  '  Icunculae — mammets  or  puppets  that  goe  by  devises  of  wyer  or  strings,  as 
though  they  had  life  and  moving.' — Abr.  Fleming's  NomencL,  p  308.  {^Sing.]  It 
has  been  supposed  to  be  a  corruption  of  movement.  Often  used  as  a  jocular  term  of 
reproach  to  young  women  [this  passage  cited].  It  was  sometimes  written  viaumet. 
Holinshed  also  speaks  of  '  mawmets  and  idols.' — Hist,  of  Eng.,  p.  108.  Ruddiman, 
in  the  Glossary  to  Douglas's  Virgil,  favours  ihe  derivation  from  Mahomet  in  Maw- 
mentis. 

Dyce.  That  mammet  here  means  '  puppet'  (used  as  a  term  of  reproach)  is  certain 

Clarke.  In  Archbishop  Trench's  admirable  book  •  Cn  the  Study  of  Words,'  he 
traces  the  origin  of  this  word  to  '  Mahomet;'  because  the  religion  of  the  Arabian 
prophet  was  synonjTnous,  in  the  minds  of  English  Christians,  with  idolatry,  it  being 
forgotten  that  the  most  characteristic  feature  and  chief  glory  of  Mahometanism  is  its 
protest  against  all  idol-worship  whatever.  From  this  original  error  and  injustice 
arose  the  habit  of  applying  the  word  'mammet'  (a  corruption  of  'Mahomet')  not 
only  to  idols  or  religious  images,  but  to  dolls  and  puppets.  [The  substance  of 
Trench's  remarks  is  to  be  found  in  the  Var.  notes  on  I  Hen.  IV:  II,  iii,  95.]  Ed. 

184.  her  fortune's  tender]  Clarke.    •  In  the  moment  when  good  fortune  pre 
tents  itself  to  her.' 


Acrin.sc.  v.]  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  211 

Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  have  done  with  thee.  \Exit. 

jfiil.     O  God  ! — O  nurse,  how  shall  this  be  prevented  ? 
My  husband  is  on  earth,  my  faith  in  heaven ;  205 

How  shall  that  faith  return  again  to  earth, 
Unless  that  husband  send  it  me  from  heaven 
By  leaving  earth  ? — comfort  me,  counsel  me. — 
Alack,  alack,  that  heaven  should  practise  stratagems 
Upon  so  soft  a  subject  as  myself! —  210 

What  say'st  thou  ?  hast  thou  not  a  word  of  joy  ? 
Some  comfort,  nurse. 

Nurse.  Faith,  here  'tis.     Romeo 

Is  banished,  and  all  the  world  to  nothing, 
That  he  dares  ne'er  come  back  to  challenge  you ; 
Or,  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  be  by  stealth.  215 

Then,  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 
I  think  it  best  you  married  with  the  county. 
O,  he's  a  lovely  gentleman ! 
Romeo's  a  dishclout  to  him :  an  eagle,  madam, 

204.     O  Godl  Separate  line,  Ff.  213.     awo']  om.  Pope,  &c. 

209.     Alack,   alack"]    Hlacke,   alacke  215.     by\  77iy  Cl^. 

F,.    Alack  IWva..  217.     county]    count  F^F^F^,  Rowe, 

212,  213.     Faith. ...nothing]    Capell.  &c. 

One  line,  Qq.    Two  lines  (ending  it  is  218.     O,  he's]  Oh,  'faith,  he  is  Han. 

and  nothing),  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Dyce  (ed.  gentleman  !]   gentleman  I    Ro- 

l),  Cambr.  meo!  Capell.   gentleman  in  sooth  !  Ktly. 

banished]      QqFf.       banish' d  lovely  gentleman  I  Anon,  con].* 
Rowe,  &c.  Dyce  (ed.  i),  Cambr. 


212.  Some  comfort]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  This  is  also  one  of  the  parts  of  (Q,)  which 
reads  as  if  it  had  been  made  up  of  imperfect  notes. 

White.  For  this  impassioned  speech  the  (QJ  has  but  a  single  line.  But  this 
line  is  redundant  and  plainly  corrupt,  and  contains  the  two  words  of  the  perfect 
speech  which  would  be  most  likely  to  impress  a  hearer,  and  which  are  necessary  to 
carry  on  the  dialogue.  The  deficiency,  and  the  other  wide  difference  between  the 
two  texts  just  here,  I  believe  to  be  owing  tc  the  surreptitious  manner  in  which  the 
earlier  was  obtained,  and  the  haste  with  which  it  was  printed. 

212.  Faith,  here]  Steev.  The  character  of  the  Nurse  exhibits  a  just  picture  of 
those  whose  actions  have  no  principles  for  their  foundation.  She  has  been  unfaith- 
ful to  the  trust  reposed  in  her  by  Capulet,  and  is  ready  to  embrace  any  expedient 
that  offers  to  avert  the  consequences  of  her  first  infidelity.     \_Sing.  Verp.  Huds. 

Mal.  This  picture,  however,  is  not  an  original.  In  Romeus  and  Juliet  the  Nurse 
exhibits  the  same  readiness  to  accommodate  herself  to  the  present  conjuncture. 
[Sing.  Verp.  Huds. 

Blackstone.  Sir  John  Vanbrugh,  in  The  Relapse,  has  copied.  In  this  respect, 
the  character  of  his  Nurse  from  Sh.     [Sing.  Verp.  Huds 


212  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  in,  sc.  ? 

Hath  not  so  green,  so  quick,  so  fair  an  eye  220 

As  Paris  hath,     Beshrew  my  very  heart, 

220.    ^^^«]  yt^<r«  Han.  Warb.  Johns.  221.     beshrevP^   Q-F^.     beshrow  The 

rest. 

220.  not  so  green]  Steev.  Perhaps  Chaucer  has  given  to  Emetrius,  in  The 
Knight's  Tale,  eyes  of  the  same  colour :  •  His  nose  was  high,  his  eyin  bright  citryn :' 
i.  e.,  the  hue  of  an  unripe  lemon  or  citron.     Again,  in  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen, 

by  Fletcher  and  Sh.,  V,  i :  ' oh  vouchsafe  With  that  thy  rare  green  eye,'  &c. 

\_Htids.'\  I  may  add  that  Arthur  Hall  (the  most  ignorant  and  absurd  of  all  the 
translators  of  Homer),  in  the  fourth  Iliad,  1581,  calls  Minerva  'The  greene  eide 
Goddese.'     \_Sing. 

Douce.  Besides  the  authorities  already  produced  in  favor  of  green  eyes,  and 
which  show  the  impropriety  of  Hanmer's  alteration  to  keen,  a  hundred  others  might, 
if  necessary,  be  given.  The  early  French  poets  are  extremely  fond  of  alluding  to 
them  under  the  title  of  yeux  vers,  which  Mons.  Le  Grand  has  in  vain  attempted  to 
convert  into  yeux  vairs,  or  grey  eyes.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the  scarcity,  if  not 
total  absence,  of  such  eyes  in  modem  times  might  well  have  excited  the  doubts  of 
the  above  intelligent  and  agreeable  writer.  For  this  let  naturalists,  if  they  can, 
account.  It  is  certain  that  green  eyes  were  found  among  the  ancients.  Plautus  thus 
alludes  to  them  in  his  Curculio:  'Qui  hie  est  homo  Cum  coll ativo  ventre,  atque 
oculis  herbeis .'"  Lord  Verulam  says,  '  Great  eyes  with  a  green  circle  between  the 
white  and  the  white  of  the  eye  signify  long  life.' — Hist,  of  Life  and  Death,  p.  124. 
Villa  Real,  a  Portuguese,  has  written  a  treatise  in  praise  of  them,  and  they  are  even 
said  to  exist  now  among  his  countrymen.  See  Pinkerton's  Geography,  vol.  i,  p. 
556.     ISing.  Hal. 

Coll.  (ed,  2).    These  citations  unquestionably  establish  the  point. 

HuDS.  Lord  Bacon  says  that  '  eyes  somewhat  large,  and  the  circles  of  them  in- 
clined to  greenness,  are  signs  of  long  life.'     [  Clarke. 

Dyce.   *  Green  eyes  were  considered  as  peculiarly  beautiful.  .  .  .  The  Spanish 

writers  are  peculiarly  enthusiastic  in  the  praise  of  green  eyes.     So  Cervantes,  in  his 

novel  El  Zeloso  Estremefio  :  "  Ay  que  ojos  tan  grandes  y  tan  rasgados !  y  por  el  siglo 

de  mi  madre,  que  son  verdes,  que  no  parecen  sino  que  son  de  esmeraldas." '  (Weber). 

Gifford,  after  observing  that  he  has  '  seen  many  Norwegian  seamen  with  eyes  of  this 

hue,  which  were  invariably  quick,  keen,  and  glancing,'  and  that  the  expression 

^green  eye^  is  common  in  our  early  poets,  cites  the  following  Sonnet  by  Drummond 

of  Hawthi  mden : 

'  When  Nature  now  had  wonderfully  wrought 

All  Auristella's  parts,  except  her  eyes, 

To  make  these  twins  two  lamps  in  beauty's  sicies 
She  counsel  of  the  starry  synod  (v.  L  "  her  starry  senate")  sought. 

Mars  and  Apollo  first  did  her  advise 
To  wrap  in  colours  black  those  comets  bright. 

That  Love  him  so  might  soberly  disguise. 
And,  unperceived,  wound  at  every  sight : 

Chaste  Phoebe  spake  for  purest  ature  dyes : 
But  Jove  and  \enus  green  about  the  light, 
To  frame  thought  best,  as  bringing  most  delight. 

That  to  pin'd  hearts  hope  might  for  aye  arise. 
Nature,  all  said,  a  paradise  of  green 
There  plac'd,  to  make  all  love  which  have  them  seen.' — 

Note  on  translation  of  Juvenal,  Sat.  uii.  »af% 


ACT  III,  sc  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  213 

I  think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match, 

For  it  excels  your  first :  or  if  it  did  not, 

Your  first  is  dead,  or  'twere  as  good  he  were 

As  living  here  and  you  no  use  of  him.  225 

jfid.     Speakest  thou  from  thy  heart  ? 

Nurse.  And  from  my  soul  too; 

Or  else  beshrevv  them  both. 

7ul.  Amen ! 

Nurse.  What  ? 

yul.     Well,  thou  hast  comforted  me  marvellous  much. 
Go  in,  and  tell  my  lady  I  am  gone. 

Having  displeased  my  father,  to  Laurence'  cell,  230 

To  make  confession  and  to  be  absolved. 

Nurse.     Marry,  I  will,  and  this  is  wisely  done.  \Exit. 

Jul.     Ancient  damnation  !     O  most  wicked  fiend 

225.  here\  hence  Han.  W  .rb.    there  226.  too\  om.  Han. 
fVnon.  conj.*  227.  besh>TdJ\  (QJQqFf. 

226.  Speakest^  Speakst  Q^,  Warb.  What  ?\  7b  wyia/" .^  Han.  Var. 
Johns.  (Com.)  What  say  you  ?   Dyce   conj. 

226,227.     And...Orehe....boih'\  OnQ  WhattoPKtly. 

line,  Qq,    Huds.  Cambr.      And. ..else...  232.       [Exit.]     om.    Q^QjF^.       She 

both  Qj,  Cambr.     From. ..Or  else. ..both  lookes  after  Nurse.  (Q^)  Ulr. 

Var.  Knt.  233.     wicked'\  cursed  (Q^)  Dyce  (ed. 

226.    froml  om.  Capell  conj.  2).    withered  S.  Walker  conj. 

White.  Of  all  the  varieties  of  the  orange-colored  eye  (usually  called  black, 
hazel,  or  brown),  that  which  at  a  distance  appears  very  dark,  but  which,  when 
clearly  seen,  is  found  to  be  of  an  olive-green  tint,  is  perhaps  the  brightest  and  most 
beautiful. 

Clarke.  The  brilliant  touch  of  green  visible  in  very  light  hazel  eyes,  and  which 
gives  wonderful  clearness  and  animation  to  their  look,  has  been  admiringly  denoted 
by  various  poets  from  time  immemorial. 

222-225.  second  match  .  .  .  him]  Clarke.  This  sentence  presents  a  point  of 
study  in  Sh.'s  method  of  using  relative  words  in  a  sentence;  'zV  refers  to  'second 
match ;'  then  *  first'  relates  to  '  match ;'  then  '  he^  and  '  Aim^  relate  to  '  first.' 

225.  living  here]  Johns.  Hanmer  reads, — as  living  hence — that  is,  at  a  distance, 
in  banishment ;  but  here  may  signify,  in  this  world.     \_Dyce. 

Dyce.  I  suspect  that  'here'  is  wrong.  The  line  (III,  iii,  15)  is  corrupted  in  Q, 
ind  Q   and  in  F^  to  'Here  in  Verona,'  &c. 

232.  Exit]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  stage-direction  of  (Q,)  may  give  a  hint  of  how 
Sh.  intended  this  portion  of  the  scene  to  be  acted.  Juliet  was  watching  her,  proba- 
bly, until  out  of  hearing. 

Sta.  The  stage-direction  of  (Q,)  is  extremely  interesting,  as  affording  us  a  glimpse 
of  the  'stage-business'  of  this  play  in  Sh.'s  time.     [Cham. 

233.  Ancient  damnation]  Ulr.  An  expression  frequently  used  to  indicate  the 
Devil,  the  first  'amned  one. 


214  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc  L 

Is  it  more  sin  to  wish  me  thus  forsworn, 

Or  to  dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongue  235 

Which  she  hath  praised  him  with  above  compare 

So  many  thousand  times? — Go,  counsellor; 

Thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth  shall  be  twain. — 

I'll  to  the  friar,  to  know  his  remedy:  239 

Tf  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die,  \_Exit. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.     Fnar  Laurence's  cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris. 

Fn.  L.     On  Thursday,  sir  ?  the  time  is  very  short. 
Par.     My  father  Capulet  will  have  it  so; 
And  I  am  nothing  slow  to  slack  his  haste. 
Fri.  L.     You  say  you  do  not  know  the  lady's  mind : 

234.     h  iV]  /;•  is  F,.  Enter...]    Rowe.      Enter   Frier  and 

Act  IV.  Scene  i.]  Rowe.     Scene  II.         Countie  Paris.  QqFf  (Count  F^F^F^). 
C"ipell.  3.     nothing]  something  Coll.  conj 

Friar  Laurence's  cell.]   Capell.  slo^v  to  slack  his]     slow  to  bad 

The  Monastery,  Rowe,  &c,  Johns,  conj.    slack, — too  slow' s  his  ]ack- 

son  conj.  from  (Q,). 

233.  most  wicked  fiend]  S.  Walker.  Almost  as  flat  as  '  deadly  murder.' — Hen. 
V:  in,  ill,  32.      fl-'z/^^r'a',  I  imagine  {s,c3LTce\y  wrinkled). 

[Walker  refers  to  '  deadly  murder'  again  in  vol.  i,  p.  302,  and  apparently  forgets 
that  deadly  was  an  emendation  of  Malone's,  who  appropriated  it,  according  to  tlie 
Cambridge  Editors,  from  Capell.]  Ed. 

3.  I  am  nothing  slow]  Johns.  His  haste  shall  not  be  abated  by  my  slowness. 
It  might  be  read :  '  And  I  am  nothing  slow  to  back  his  haste' — that  is,  I  am  diligent 
to  abet  and  enforce  his  haste.      \^Hal. 

Mal.  If  this  kind  of  phraseology  be  justifiable,  it  can  be  so  only  by  supposing 
the  meaning  to  be,  there  is  nothing  of  slowness  in  me,  to  induce  me  to  slacken  or  abati 
his  haste.  The  meaning  of  Paris  is  very  clear.  He  does  not  wish  to  restrain  Capu- 
let or  to  delay  his  own  marriage.  Put  the  words  which  the  poet  has  given  him 
import  the  reverse  of  this,  and  seem  rather  to  mean,  I  am  not  backward  in  restrain, 
tng  his  haste;  I  endeavor  to  retard  him  as  much  as  I  can.  \_Sing.  Huds.  Dyct 
(ed.  2).]  Dr.  Johnson  saw  the  impropriety  of  this  expression,  and  that  his  interpre- 
tation extortec"  a  meaning  from  the  words  which  they  do  not  at  first  present;   and 


v.T  IV,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  21 5 

Uneven  is  the  course ;  I  like  it  not.  5 

Par.     Immoderately  she  weeps  for  Tybalt's  death, 
And  therefore  have  I  little  talk'd  of  love, 
For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a  house  of  tears. 
Now,  sir,  her  father  counts  it  dangerous 

That  she  doth  give  her  sorrow  so  much  sway,  10 

And  in  his  wisdom  hastes  our  marriage, 
To  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tears, 
Which,  too  much  minded  by  herself  alone, 

5.     is  the\  is  this  Pope,  &c.    in  this  lo.     dothi    do    Q^,   Capell,    Momm. 

Warb.  should  F^F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

7,     talk'dltalktCl^.    ta/ke  QJ^^Q^F^  sway]  way  Coll.  {US.) 

F,.    tali  FjF^,  Rowe,  Momm. 

hence  his  proposed  alteration ;  but  Sh.  must  answer  for  his  own  peculiarities.     See 
Ant.  and  Cleop.,  IV,  xii.     [I/al. 

Sing.  Sh.  has  hastily  fallen  into  similar  inadvertencies  elsewhere. 

K.NT.  The  meaning  is  obvious  as  it  stands :  '  I  z.m  nothing  slow  (so  as),  to  slack 
his  haste.' 

Sta.  Sh.'s  marvellous  power  of  condensation  sometimes  renders  his  meaning 
obscure.  In  this  instance,  the  sense  appears  to  be,  '  and  I  am  not  slow  in  my  own 
preparations  for  the  wedding,  to  give  him  any  reason  to  slacken  his  hasty  proceed- 
ings.'    \_Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  "We  should  rather  say,  '  I  am  something  slow,'  &c. ;  and  what  Pans 
means,  obviously,  is,  I  have  no  wish  that  he  should  lessen  his  haste.  The  (Q  ) 
makes  the  speech  the  very  reverse. 

Ktly.  Collier's  (MS.)  mistakes  the  sense.  'To'  is  s-o  as  to,  that  I  should. 
Editors  have  not  understood  it. 

Clarke.  There  are  remarkably  few  instances  of  elliptical  diction  in  the  present 
play.  It  is  a  form  that  Sh.  used  but  sparingly  in  his  earlier  dramas,  whereas,  in  his 
latter  ones,  it  occurs  perpetually.  As  his  habit  of  writing  and  facility  of  expression 
increased,  so  his  power  of  condensed  and  inclucive  phraseology  strengthened ;  while 
his  own  taste  and  judgment  made  him  ever  more  .ind  more  exercise  it  as  a  skill  in 
itself  and  productive  of  the  most  vigorous  effect. 

7.  talk'd]  MOMMSEN.  By  ^talk'd''  the  meaning  is  wholly  changed.  Paris  does 
not  here  wish  to  give  to  the  Friar,  as  an  excuse  for  his  uncertainty  concerning 
Juliet's  mind,  that,  owing  to  her  grief  for  Tybalt,  he  had  been  unable  to  talk  befit- 
tingly  v/ith  her  about  love,  but  he  simply  explains,  by  this  grief,  Juliet's  silence  and 
reserve  in  his  own  favour ;  this  was  the  only  reason  why  he  received  from  her  so  few 
words  of  love.  Since  this  interpretation  gives  throughout  a  clear  meaning — for 
that  Paris  does  not  positively  know  how  Juliet  is  minded  does  not  preclude  the  con- 
viction on  his  part  that  the  expression  of  her  love  is  alone  wanting, — since  it  renders 
more  graceful  the  connection  with  what  follows,  in  so  far  as  Julia,  silent  about  love, 
is  his  sorrowing  Venus,  and  since  I  have  talk  could  have  been  more  easily  corrupted 
into  /  have  talk'd  than  the  reverse,  we  abide  by  the  old  reading. 

10.  so  much  Bvay]  Coll.  (ed.  2).   There  seems  much  reason  in  the  emcnda 
Hon  of  the  (MS.). 


2 1  6  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv.  sc  . 

May  be  put  from  her  by  society  : 

Now  do  you  know  the  reason  of  this  haste.  1 5 

Fri.  L.    \Asidc\    I  would  I  knew  not  why  it  should  be  slow'd. 
Look,  sir,  here  comes  the  lady  towards  my  cell. 

Enter  JULIET. 

Par.     Happily  met,  my  lady  and  my  wife ! 

yul.     That  may  be,  sir,  when  I  may  be  a  wife. 

Par.     That  may  be  must  be,  love,  on  Thursday  next.  2r 

jhd.     What  must  be  shall  be. 

Fri.  L.  That'.s  a  certain  text. 

Par.     Come  you  to  make  confession  to  this  father  ? 

yjil.     To  answer  that,  I  should  confess  to  you. 

Par.     Do  not  deny  to  him  that  you  love  mo. 

jhd.     I  will  confess  to  you  that  I  love  him,  25 

Par.     So  will  you,  I  am  sure,  that  you  love  me. 

jhd.     If  I  do  so,  it  will  be  of  more  price, 
Being  spoke  behind  your  back,  than  to  your  face. 

Par.     Poor  soul,  thy  face  is  much  abused  with  tears. 

yul.     The  tears  have  got  small  victory  by  that ;  30 

For  it  was  bad  enough  before  their  spite. 

Par.     Thou  wrong'st  it  more  than  tears  with  that  report. 

yul.     That  is  no  slander,  sir,  which  is  a  truth, 
And  what  I  spake,  I  spake  it  to  my  face. 

Par.     Thy  face  is  mine,  and  thou  hast  slander'd  it.  35 

yid.     It  may  be  so,  for  it  is  not  mine  own. 

15.  haste.'\     Qj,     Han.      hast?    or  33.     no\  om.  Q^. 

^a^/i?^  The  rest,  Rowe,  &c.  slander. ..a   truth']    wrong,    str, 

16.  [Aside]  Theob.  om.  QqFf.  that  is  but  a  truth  Capell,  from  (Q,). 

17.  towards']  toward  Q^,  Cambr.  which    is]    that    is    Var.    Sing. 

18.  Happily  met]   Welcome  my  love  Huds.  Ktly. 

(Q.)  Pope»  &c.  a    truth]     truth    F^F^F^.       but 

my  wife]  my  life  Johns,  conj.  truth  Rowe,  &c. 

23.     I  should]  were  to  {Q^)'?o^t,  Sac.  34.     spake,   I  spake]   speak,  I  speak 

(Johns.)  Var.  Sing.  Dyce  fed.  2).  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

26.    you]  Capell.    ye  QqFf,  Rowe,  my]  thy  F,. 

&c.  Dyce  (ed.  l),  Cambr. 

16.    slow'd]    Steev.    So   in   Sir   A.   Gorges's   translation   of   Lucan,   Lib.  iij 
will  you  overflow  The  fields,  thereby  my  march  to  slow.''     [Sing. 


Nares.   To  make  slow,  to  slacken  in  pace.     To  foreslow  was  more  common  in 
the  saj-e  sense.     [Sing.  Huds. 


ACTiv,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  21 7 

Are  you  at  leisure,  holy  father,  now ; 
Or  shall  I  come  to  you  at  evening  mass  ? 

Fri.  L.     My  leisure  serves  me,  pensive  daughter,  now. — 
My  lord,  we  must  entreat  the  time  alone.  40 

Par.     God  shield,  I  should  disturb  devotion ! — 
Juliet,  on  Thursday  early  will  I  rouse  you : 
Till  then,  adieu,  and  keep  this  holy  kiss.  [Exit, 

Jul.     O,  shut  the  door,  and  when  thou  hast  done  so. 
Come  weep  with  me ;  past  hope,  past  cure,  past  help !  45 

Fri.  L.     Ah,  Juliet,  I  already  know  thy  grief; 
It  strains  me  past  the  compass  of  my  wits : 
I  hear  thou  must,  and  nothing  may  prorogue  it, 
On  Thursday  next  be  married  to  this  county. 

Jul.     Tell  me  not,  friar,  that  thou  hear'st  of  this,  50 

Unless  thou  tell  me  how  I  may  prevent  it : 
If  in  thy  wisdom  thou  canst  give  no  help, 

40.  ■we\  you  F,.  /  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  and  keep  this  holy  kiss.  (Q,)  Pope,  Han. 
S:c.  44-     0,1  Go{q,)  Pope,  &c. 

41.  God  shie/J,  11  F^,Ro-we.  God-  45.  "^rd-]  (QJQ^.  far<?  Q^Q^Q^Ff, 
skield,  /  Qq.     GodsAei/d :  /  F^F^.    God  Kut.  Ulr.  Del. 

tkield:  IF^.   Godshield  fDycs.WhiXQ,  46.     ^/4]  (QJ  Capell.    (9  QqFf,  Knt. 

Cambr.  thy^  your  Pope,  Han. 

42.  you"]   Theob.    ye  QqFf,  Rowe,  47.     strains']  streames  F^. 

Dyce,  Cambr.  49.     county']    count    F^F  F^,   Rowe, 

42,43.     jfuliet...kiss']  yuliet  farevjel,         &c.  (Johns.),  Capell. 

38.  evening  mass]  Ritson.  Juliet  means  vespers.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
tvening  mass.  \_Huds.  White.]  'Masses,^  as  Fynes  Moryson  observes,  'are  only  sung 
in  the  morning,  and  when  the  priests  are  fasting.'  [Sing.]  So,  likewise,  in  Tlie 
Boke  of  Thenseygnemente  and  Techynge  that  the  Knight  of  the  Toure  made  to  his 
Doughters,  translated  and  printed  by  Caxton :  'And  they  of  the  parysshe  told  the 
preest  that  it  was  past  none,  and  therefor  he  durst  not  synge  masse,  and  so  they  hadde 
no  masse  that  daye.'     [^Hal. 

Sta.  It  is  strange  that  Sh.,  who  on  other  occasions  has  shown  a  competent  know- 
ledge of  the  doctrines  and  usages  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  should  have  fallen 
into  this  error.  The  celebration  of  mass,  as  is  well  known,  can  only  take  place  in 
the  forenoon. 

Clarke.  The  word  '  mass'  is  here  employed  in  the  general  sense  of  '  service,' 
'  office,'  '  prayer ;'  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  Italians  usually  apply  their  word  fun- 
zione  to  ♦  high  mass'  only,  though  in  strictness  it  means  '  divine  service'  generally. 

45    past  cure]  Del.  So  in  Love's  Lab.  L.,  V,  ii,  28. 

Ulr.  This  change  from  care  to  cure  is  not  only  needless,  but  even  objectionable 
Past  cure  is  the  same  as  past  help,  and  therefore  only  a  weak  repetition  of  the  same 
thought.     •  Fast  all  hope,  past  all  care  or  effort  (for  escape),  past  all  help,'  perfectly 
expressp".  th»  desperate  iwsition  and  mood  in  which  Julici  finds  herself. 
19 


2l8  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  i/,  sc.  t 

Do  thou  but  call  my  resolution  wise, 

A.nd  with  this  knife  I'll  help  it  presently. 

God  join'd  my  heart  and  Romeo's,  thou  our  hands;  55 

And  ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  seal'd. 

Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed, 

Or  my  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 

Turn  to  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both : 

Therefore,  out  of  thy  long-experienced  time,  60 

Give  me  some  present  counsel ;  or,  behold, 

Twixt  my  extremes  and  me  this  bloody  knife 

Shall  play  the  umpire,  arbitrating  that 

Which  the  commission  of  thy  years  and  art 

Could  to  no  issue  of  true  honour  bring.  65 

Be  not  so  long  to  speak ;  I  long  to  die, 

54.     xuith   this^    with''  his  F,.     with'  64.     commission']  commixtion  Becket 

this  Fj.  and  Sing.  conj. 

56.  Romeo']    Romeos  Q^QjQ^.      Ro-  thy]  my  F^F^. 

meo's  Qj,  Cambr.  66.     Be. ...die]    Speak  not,  be  brief; 

60.    /(j«^-<'jr^<'ri>«tv</]  Hyphen,  Pope.         for  I  desire  to  die  (QJ  Pope.    {Speak 

now,  Han.) 

54.  this  knife]  White.  The  ladies  of  Sh.'s  day  customarily  wore  knives  at  their 
girdles. 

57.  the  label]  Mal.  The  seals  of  deeds  in  our  author's  time  were  not  impressed 
on  the  parchment  itself  on  which  the  deed  was  written,  but  were  appended  on  dis- 
tinct slips  or  labels  affixed  to  the  deed.  Hence,  in  Rich.  H :  V,  ii,  56,  the  Duke 
of  York  discovers,  by  the  depending  seal,  a  covenant  into  which  his  son,  the  Duke 
of  Aumerle,  had  entered :  '  WTiat  seal  is  that  which  hangs  without  thy  bosom  ?' 
\^Sing.  Com.  Verp.  Hitds.  Sta.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Hal. 

60.  Therefore  out  of]  This  line  is  cited  by  S.  Walker  {'Crit.'  vol.  ii,  p.  173) 
as  an  instance  of  the  peculiar  accentuation  of  the  preposition  *of.' 

63.  the  umpire]  Johnson.  That  is,  this  knife  shall  decide  the  struggle  between 
me  and  my  distresses.     {^Sing. 

64.  the  commission]  Joh.nson.    Commission  is  for  authority  or  power.     \_Sing. 
Ulr.    I  do  not  think  that  commission  stands  here,  as  Johnson  says,  for  '  authority,' 

or  '  power,'  but  is  used  in  its  ordinary  sense.  Juliet  says  in  effect:  this  knife  shall 
decide  that  which  the  commission  [die  Vollmacht]  that  thy  age  and  thy  art  give  thee — 
the  commission,  namely,  to  appoint  an  umpire — could  not  bring  to  an  honourable 
issue. 

66.  Be  not  so  long]  Clarke.  The  constraint,  with  sparing  speech,  visible  in 
Juliet  when  with  her  parents,  as  contrasted  with  her  free  outpouring  flow  of  words 
when  she  is  with  her  lover,  her  father-confessor,  or  her  nurse — when,  in  short,  she 
is  her  natural  self  and  at  perfect  ease — is  true  to  characteristic  delineation.  Tlie 
young  girl,  the  very  young  girl,  the  girl  brought  up  as  Juliet  has  been  reared,  th? 
youthful  southern  maiden,  lives  and  breathes  in  ever)'  line  by  which  Sh.  has  set  heJ 
before  us. 


ACT  iV,  SC.  i.j 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


2IQ 


If  what  thou  speak'st  speak  not  of  remedy. 

Fri.  L.     Hold,  daughter :  I  do  spy  a  kind  of  hope, 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  which  we  would  prevent. 
If,  rather  than  to  marry  County  Paris, 
Thou  hast  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself, 
Then  is  it  likely  thou  wilt  undertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chide  av;ay  this  shame. 
That  cop'st  with  death  himself  to  'scape  from  it ; 
And,  if  thou  dar'st,  I'll  give  thee  remedy. 

jful.     O,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris. 
From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower ; 
Or  walk  in  thievish  ways ;  or  bid  me  lurk 
Where  serpents  are ;  chain  me  with  roaring  bears  ; 
Or  shut  me  nightly  in  a  charnel-house. 


70 


75 


80 


67.     [Offering  to  strike]  '"oil.  (ed.  2). 
69.     an\  om.  S.  Walker  conj. 

72.  of  will'\  or  will  (Q,)  Pope,  Han. 
slay-\  stay  Q^QjF..    lay  F,. 

73.  is  it\  it  is  FjF^,  Rowe,  &c. 

75.  cop'st^  copes  Han. 
/row]  fro  FjF^Fj. 

76.  And,  if^  An  if  Del.  conj. 
dar'sf]  Ff.    darest  Qq, 

7S.    yonder^  (QJ  Pope,    any  QqFf, 


Rowe,  Capell,  Ulr.  Del.  White. 

79,  80.  Or  walk. ...bears']  O"  chain 
me  to  some  steepy  mountain's  top  Where 
roaring  bears  and  savage  lions  roam 
Pope,  &c.  from  (QJ.  Or  chain....top 
Where  savage  bears  and  roaring  lions 
roam  Johns,  conj. 

81.  shuf]  (QJ  Pope,  hide  QqFf, 
Rowe,  Capell,  Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del. 
Huds.  White,  Hal. 


69.  as  desperate]  Clarke.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  different  is  the  styl  j 
here,  in  one  of  Sh.'s  ea:lier  written  plays,  from  the  style  in  his  later  ones.  The 
repetition  of  the  word  '  desperate,'  the  precision  of  statement  in  this  comparison,  is 
utterly  contrary  to  the  conciseness,  the  elliptical  condensedness,  which  we  find  in  the 
comparisons  from  Sh.'s  hand  at  a  later  date. 

69.  an  execution]  S.  Walker.  I  suspect  an  is  an  interpolation.  (Vol.  i,  p. 
269,  Art.  xl :  '  Metre  affected  by  the  pronunciation  of  ion  final.') 

76.  And  if]  Del.  According  to  the  punctuation  of  (QJQq,  v.hich  puts  a  stop 
at  the  end  of  the  preceding  sentence,  ^And  if  should  here  be  read  as  'An  if.' 

78.  yonder  tower]  Ulr.  But  I  cannot  perceive  why  Juliet  must  designate  a 
particular,  actual  tower,  since  all  that  follows  is  purely  imaginary,  the  tasks  of  hor- 
ror which  her  imagination  conjured  up.  And  besides,  the  expression,  '  Bid  me  leap 
from  any  (no  matter  how  high)  tower'  is  more  vigorous  than  '  from  that  tower  there.' 

White.  '  Yonder'  has  been  almost  universally  followed  hitherto  as  the  more 
poetic  reading.  But  the  passage  was  evidently  rewritten  on  the  revision  of  the  play, 
as  will  be  seen  by  comparison  with  the  earliest  text,  which  will  give  the  reader  a 
fair  notion  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  variations  between  the  two  versions  in 
this  part  of  the  play,  all  of  which  cannot  be  noticed.  It  is  difficult  to  see  why  on« 
word  of  ths  revised  version  should  be  rejected  while  all  the  others  are  accepted. 


2  20  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  L 

O'er-cover'd  quite  with  dead  men's  rattling  bones, 

With  reeky  shanks  and  yellow  chapless  skulls ; 

Or  bid  me  go  into  a  new-made  grave, 

And  hide  me  with  a  dead  man  in  his  shraud ;  85 

Things  that  to  hear  them  told,  have  made  me  tremble; 

And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt. 

To  live  an  unstain'd  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

Fri.  L.     Hold,  then  ;  go  home,  be  merry,  give  consent 
To  marry  Paris  :  Wednesday  is  to-morrow;  9(1 

To-morrow  night  look  that  thou  lie  alone. 
Let  not  tiiy  nurse  lie  with  thee  in  thy  chamber : 
Take  thou  this  vial,  being  then  in  bed, 
And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  off: 
When  presently  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run  95 

83.  chapless']   chapels  Q^.      chappels  89-93.     Hold. ..bed]  Pope,  Han.  sub- 

Q  F,,  stitute  three  lines  Hold. ..vial  from  (Q,). 

85.  shroud]  grave  Ff,  Rowe.    om.  92.     thy  nurse]  the  nurse  Q^. 
QaQs-  ^^"'^  ^^^'-  "^<^"J-  94-     distilled]  (QJ  Pope,     distilling 

86.  told]  natn'd  (Q,)  Pope,  &c.  QqFf,  Rowe. 
88.     unstained]  unstained  F,,  Com. 

88.  to  my  sweet  lev;]   Bosweli..     (QJ  reads,  I  ihink,  with  more  spirit: 

'  To  keep  myself  a  faithful,  unstain'd  wife 
To  my  dear  lord,  my  dearest  Romeo.'     [Sing. 

93.  Take  thou  this,  &c.]  Sta.   Compare  the  old  poem : 

'  Receive  this  \'yoll  small  and  keepe  it  as  thine  eye ; 
And  on  the  manage  day,  before  the  sunne  doe  cleare  the  skye, 
Fill  it  with  water  full  up  to  the  very  brim. 

Then  drinke  it  of,  and  ihuu  shalt  feele  throughout  eche  vayue  and  lim 
A  pleasant  slumber  slide,  and  quite  dispred  at  length 
On  all  thy  partes,  from  every  part  reve  all  thy  kindly  strength ; 
Withouten  moving  thus  thy  ydle  parts  shall  rest. 
No  pulse  shall  goe,  ne  hart  once  beate  within  thy  hollow  brest. 
But  thou  shalt  lye  as  she  that  dyeth  in  a  traunce : 
Thy  kinsmen  and  thy  trusty  frendes  shall  wayle  the  sodain  chaunce , 
The  corps  then  will  they  bring  to  grave  in  this  churchyarde, 
Where  thy  forefathers  long  agoe  a  costly  tombe  preparde, 
Both  for  himselfe  and  eke  for  those  that  should  come  after. 
Both  deepe  it  is,  and  long  and  large,  where  thou  shalt  rest,  my  daughter. 
Till  I  to  Mantua  scnde  for  Romeus,  thy  knight; 
Out  of  the  tombe  both  he  and  I  will  take  thee  forth  that  night' 

94.  this  distilled]  White.  Yielding  to  custom,  I  doubtfully  displace 'distilling' 
for  the  earlier  reading ;  as  the  former  may  either  have  been  put  for  '  distilled,'  accord- 
ing to  the  common  practice  of  Sh.'s  time  in  relation  to  participial  termination^j  or 
used  with  reference,  not  to  the  manner  in  which  the  liquor  was  made,  but  to  iti 
quality  of  distilling  (like  the  '  leperous  distilment'  poured  in  the  ears  of  Hamlet'i 
father)  '  through  the  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body.' 


i^CTiv,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  221 

A  cold  and  drowsy  humour ;  for  no  pulse 

Shall  keep  his  native  progress,  but  surcease : 

No  warmth,  no  breath,  shall  testify  thou  livest ; 

The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 

To  paly  ashes  ;  thy  eyes'  windows  fall,  lOo 

Like  death,  when  he  shuts  up  the  day  of  life ; 

Each  part,  deprived  of  supple  government. 

Shall,  stiff  and  stark  and  cold,  appear  like  death: 

And  in  this  borrow'd  likeness  of  shrunk  death 

Thou  shalt  continue  two  and  forty  hours,  105 

And  then  awake  as  from  a  pleasant  sleep. 

Now,  when  the  bridegroom  in  the  morning  comes 

To  rouse  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  thou  dead : 

Then,  as  the  manner  of  our  country  is. 

In  thy  best  robes  uncover'd  on  the  bier  1 10 

96,  97-     for. ...surcease]   which  shall  thy]  the  Cl^Q^i. 
seize  Each  vital  spirit ;  for  no  pulse  shall             lOl.     shuts]  shut  Y ^. 

keep  His  nat'ral  progress,  but  surcease  105.    forty]  fifty  Maginn  conj. 

to  beat  (QJ  Pope,  &c.  Var.  Sing.  Ktly.  no.     uncover' d]  uncovered  Q^. 

99.  fade]  fade:  Q^.  bier]   Han.    beere,  Be  borne  (a 

100.  To  paly]  (^.  Too  paly  CI  .  Too  buriall  in  thy  kindreds  grave:  QqFf, 
many  Q^Q^.  To  many  F,.  To  mealy  F,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Hal.  {beer... 
FjF^,  Rowe.  bom  F^F^). 

97.  surcease]  Knt.  (ed.  i).  This  speech  of  the  Friar  in  the  author's  'amended' 
edition  [Q^]  is  elaborated  from  thirteen  lines  to  thirty-three ;  and  yet  the  modem 
[•  variorum'  (ed.  2)]  editors  have  been  bold  enough,  even  here,  to  give  us  a  text 
made  up  of  Sh.'s  first  thoughts  and  his  last. 

100.  To  paly  ashes]  Steev.  It  may  be  remarked  that  this  image  does  not 
occur  either  in  Painter  or  in  Brooke.  It  may  be  met  with,  however,  in  A  Dolefull 
Discourse  of  a  Lord  and  a  Ladie,  by  Churchyard,  1593 : 

'  Her  colour  changde,  her  cheerfull  looket 

And  couRtenance  wanted  spreete; 
To  sallow  ashes  tumde  the  hue 

Of  beauties  blossomes  sweete ; 
And  drery  dulnesse  had  bespred 

The  wearish  bodie  throw ; 
Each  vital  veine  did  flat  refuse 

To  do  their  dutie  now. 
The  blood  forsooke  the  wonted  course, 

And  backward  ganne  retire  ; 
And  left  the  limmes  as  cold  and  swarfe 

As  coles  that  waste  with  fire,'  \_Hal. 

105.  two  and  forty]  For  Maginn's  conjecture  see  Appendix. 

no.  best  robes]  Mal.  The  Italian  custom  here  alluded  to,  of  carrying  the  deaj 
body  to  the  grave  richly  dressed  and  with  the  face  uncovered  (which  is  not  men 
tioned  by  Painter^,  Sh.  found  particularly  described  in  Romeus  and  Juliet: 
la  * 


22  2  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv.  sc  L 

Thou  shalt  be  borne  to  that  same  ancient  vault 

Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 

In  the  mean  time,  against  thou  shalt  awake, 

Shall  Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drift ; 

And  hither  shall  he  come:  and  he  and  I  115 

Will  watch  thy  waking,  and  that  very  night 

115,116.     and. ..■waking'\  an. ..walking  Ql^.   om.  Ff. 

'  An  other  use  there  is,  that  whosoever  dyes. 
Borne  to  t'.icir  church,  with  open  face  upon  the  beere  he  lyes. 
In  wonted  tveed  attyrde,  not  v/rapt  in  winding  skeete.'     [Sing'.  Huds.  Sta.  HaL 

Steev.    Thus  in  Ophelia's  Song  in  Hamlet,  IV,  v,  64.     \_Sing.  Hal. 

Knt.  In  the  adaptation  of  Bandello's  tale  in  Painter's  '  Palace  of  Pleasure'  we 
have,  '  they  will  judge  you  to  be  dead,  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  our  city,  you 
shall  be  carried  to  the  church-yard  hard  by  our  church.'  Painter  has  no  description 
of  this  custom;  but  Sh.  saw  how  beautifully  it  accorded  with  the  conduct  of  his 
storj',  and  he  therefore  emphatically  repeats  it  in  the  directions  of  the  Friar  after 
Juliet's  supposed  death :  IV,  v,  79.  Ancient  customs  sur\-ive  when  they  are  built 
upon  the  unaltering  parts  of  national  character,  and  have  connection  with  unalter- 
able local  circumstances.     Juliet  was  carried  to  her  tomb  as  the  maids  and  matrons 

of  Italy  are  still  carried  : 

' And,  lying  on  her  funeral  couch. 

Like  one  asleep,  her  eyelids  closed,  her  hands 

Folded  together  on  her  modest  breast 

As  'twere  her  nightly  posture,  through  the  crowd 

She  came  at  last — and  richly,  gaily  clad. 

As  for  a  birthday  feast' — Rogers,  'Italy.'    [Com.  Verp. 

no.  on  the  bier]  Knt.  The  editors  [in  omitting  the  line  from  QqFf]  have 
here  gone  far  beyond  their  office ;  nor  can  we  understand  why  the  more  particular 
working  out  of  the  idea  in  the  next  two  lines  should  have  given  them  offence.  '  Be 
bomu'  means  'to  be  borne.' 

Dyce  {'Remarks^  &c.,  p.  174).  The  line  [of  the  QqFf]  is  a  various  lection  of 
the  two  lines  [in,  112].  I  apprehend  that  Knight  would  search  the  poetry  of 
England  in  vain  for  another  example  of  such  an  ellipsis  as  '  Be  borne'  for  to  be 
home.  When  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  imitated  the  passage  in  TTie  Knight  of  Malta, 
IV,  i,  they  were  content  with  one  reading. 

Lettsom  [marginal  MS.  note  on  the  above  in  the  present  editor's  copy].  Very 
true.  These  various  lections,  like  those  in  Love's  Lab.  L.,  seem  to  have  originated 
in  transcribing  from  Sh.'s  foul  copies. 

Ulr.  The  hypothesis  that  the  line  '  3e  borne,'  ^:c.,  retained  its  place  in  the  MS. 
only  through  an  oversight  of  Sh.  when  he  revised  the  piece  (about  1598),  supposes 
that  the  printer  of  Q^  had  before  him  Sh.'s  own  handwriting,  which  is  very  impr'^b- 
able.  At  all  events,  it  is  unscholarly  upon  such  an  h3rpothesis  to  omit  the  line  alto- 
gether. For  although  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  it  seems  superfluous,  yet  it  may  be 
quite  easily  conformed  to  the  construction,  if  Knight's  explanation  of  the  ellipsis  be 
correct. 

Cambr.  We  have  [here]  omitted  a  line  which  occurs  in  all  the  Quartos,  excepJ 
the  first,  and  all  the  Folios,  because  it  could  not  be  retained  without  absolute  detri 
tr  ent  to  thrs  sense 


ACT  rv,  sc.  ii.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


223 


Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 

And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame, 

If  no  inconstant  toy  nor  womanish  fear 

Abate  thy  valour  in  the  acting  it.  120 

yul.     Give  me,  give  me  !     O,  tell  not  me  of  fear ! 

Fri.  L.     Hold  ;  get  you  gone,  be  strong  and  prosperous 
In  this  resolve :  I'll  send  a  friar  with  speed 
To  Mantua,  with  my  letters  to  thy  lord.  124 

yul.     Love  give  me  strength  !  and  strength  shall  help  afford. 


Farewell,  dear  father ! 


\Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     Hall  in  Capulefs  house. 

Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  Nurse,  and  two  Servingmen. 

Cap.     So  many  guests  invite  as  here  are  writ. — \_Exit  Servant 
Sirrah,  go  hire  me  twenty  cunning  cooks. 


119.  inconstant']  QqF,Fj,  Capell, 
Knt.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cham.  Hal.  Cambr. 
unconstant  F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Var.  et  cet. 
toy]  ioy  Q^.  joy  Q^. 
121.  Give-.-O]  Give  me.  Oh  give  me 
Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Steev.  Har.  Camp. 
Haz.  0  giveU  me,  give't  me  !  Lettsom 
conj. 

not  me]  Q^QjFf,  Rowe,  Pope 
(ed.  1),  Knt.  Ulr.  Del.  Dyce,  Cham. 
Cambr.  me  not  Q^Qj,  Pope  (ed.  2),&c. 
Capell,  Var.  et  cet. 

fear]  care  F,. 


[Taking  the  vial.  Pope,  &c. 

125.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

Scene  ii.]  Rowe iii.  Capell. 

Hall....]  Capell.  Capulet's  House. 
Rowe. 

Enter....]  Enter  Father  Capulet, 
Mother,  Nurse,  and  Serving  men,  two 
or  three.  QqFf.  Enter.... Servant.  Mai. 
Sing. 

1.  [Exit...]  om.  QqFf.   to  a  Servant; 

who   goes  out.   Capell First   Serv. 

Dyce,  Cambr. 

2.  twenty']  dainty  Jackson  conj. 


119.  inconstant  toy]  Johnson.  \i  no  fickle  freak,  no  light  caprice,  no  change 
of  fancy,  hinder  the  performance.     \_Sing. 

Max.  These  expressions  \^  inconstant  to/  and  '  womanish  fear']  are  borrowed 
from  the  poem.     {^Sing. 

121.  Give  me]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Probably  the  modem  alteration, ' C/z/i*  me,  O, 
give  me !  tell,'  &c.,  is  what  the  poet  wrote.  I  believe  that  the  '  it'  [of  Lettsom's 
conj.]  is  unnecessary  here.     Compare  Macbeth,  I,  iii,  5  :  •  "Give  me,"  quoth  I. 

2.  twenty  cunning  cooks]  RiTSON.  Twenty  cooks  for  half  a  dozen  gtustst 
Either  Capulet  has  altered  his  mind  strangely,  or  Sh.  forgot  v/hat  he  had  just  made 
him  tell  us.     [HI,  iv,  27.]     \_Sing.  Dyce,  Hal. 

Mal.  This  arose  from  his  sometimes  following  and  sometimes  deserting  his 
original.  The  scene  referred  to  was  his  own  invention ;  but  here  he  recollected  the 
poem  :  ' he  myndes  to  make  for  him  a  costly  feast.*     \_Sing.  Dyce,  Hal. 

Knt.  According  to  an  entry  in  the  books  of  the  Stationers'  Company  for  1560, 
the  preacher  was  paid  six  shillings  and  twopence  for  his  labour;  the  minstrel,  twelve 


\J 


224  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  iL 

Sec.  Serv.     You  shall  have  none  ill,  sir,  for  I'll  try  if  they  can 

lick  their  fingers. 

Cap.     How  canst  thou  try  them  so  ?  5 

Sec.  Serv.      Marry,  sir,  'tis  an  ill  cook  that  cannot  lick  his 

own  fingers :  therefore  he  that  cannot  lick  his  fingers  goes  not 

with  me. 


shillings;  and  the  cook,  fifteen  shillings.  The  relative  scale  of  estimation  for 
theology,  poetry,  and  gastronomy,  has  not  been  much  altered  during  two  centuries, 
either  in  the  city  generally,  or  in  the  Company  which  represents  the  city's  literature. 
Ben  Jonson  has  described  a  master  cook  in  his  gorgeous  style : 

'  A  master  cook  I  why,  he's  a  man  of  men 
For  a  professor ;  he  designs,  he  draws. 
He  paints,  he  carves,  he  builds,  he  fortifies, 
Makes  citadels  of  curious  fowl  and  fish. 
Some  he  dry-ditches,  some  motes  round  with  broths. 
Mounts  marrow-bones,  cuts  fifty  angled  custards. 
Rears  bulwark  pies  ;  and,  for  his  outer  works, 
He  raiseth  ramparts  of  immortal  crust, 
And  teacheth  all  the  tactics  at  one  dinner — 
What  ranks,  what  files,  to  put  his  dishes  is. 
The  whole  art  military  I    Then  he  knows 
The  influence  of  the  stars  upon  his  meats. 
And  all  their  seasons,  tempers,  qualities, 
And  so  to  fit  his  relishes  and  sauces. 
He  has  nature  in  a  pot,  'bove  all  the  chemist:, 
Or  bare-breech'd  brethren  of  the  rosy  cross. 
He  is  an  architect,  an  engineer, 
A  soldier,  a  physician,  a  philosopher, 
A  general  mathematician.' 

wapulet  is  evidently  a  man  of  ostentation ;  but  his  ostentation,  as  is  most  generally 
the  case,  is  covered  with  a  thin  veil  of  affected  indifference.  In  Act  I  he  says  to  his 
guests:  *We  have  a  trifling,  foolish  banquet  toward.'  In  Act  III,  when  he  settles 
the  day  of  Paris's  marriage,  he  just  hints :  '  We'll  keep  no  great  ado — a  friend  or 
two.'  But  Sh.  knew  that  these  indications  of  the  '  pride  which  apes  humility'  were 
not  inconsistent  with  the  •  twenty  cooks' — the  regret  that  '  We  shall  be  much  unfur- 
nished for  this  time,'  and  the  solicitude  expressed  in  '  Look  to  the  baked  meats,  good 
Angelica.'  Steevens  turns  up  his  nose  aristocratically  at  Sh.  for  imputing  *  to  an 
Italian  nobleman  and  his  lady  all  the  petty  solicitudes  of  a  private  house,  concerning 
a  provincial  entertainment ;'  and  he  adds,  very  grandly :  •  To  such  a  bustle  our 
author  might  have  been  witness  at  home ;  but  the  like  anxieties  could  not  well  hare 
occurred  in  the  family  of  Capulet.'  Steevens  had  not  well  read  the  history  of  society, 
either  in  Italy  or  in  England,  to  have  fallen  into  the  error  of  believing  that  the  great 
were  exempt  from  such  '  anxieties.'  The  baron's  lady  overlooked  the  baron's  kitchen 
from  her  private  chamber ;  and  tin  still-room  and  the  spicery  not  unfrequently  occu- 
pied a  large  portion  of  her  attention.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

6.  cannot  lick]  Steev.    This  adage  is  in  Puttenham's  Arte  of  English  Poesie, 
1589.  p.  157: 

'  As  the  old  cocke  crowes  so  doeth  the  chick ; 
A  bad  cooke  that  cannot  his  owne  fingers  lick.'    [Sing:  Huds.  Sta.  dark*. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  ii-l  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  225 

Cap.     Go,  be  gone. —  [Exit  Servant. 

We  shall  be  much  unfurnish'd  for  this  time.  lO 

What,  is  my  daughter  gone  to  Friar  Laurence  ? 

Nurse.     Ay,  forsooth. 

Cap.     Well,  he  may  chance  to  do  some  good  on  her : 
A  peevish  self-will'd  harlotry  it  is. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Nurse.     See  where  she  comes  from  shrift  with  merry  look.    1 5 
Cap.     How   now,   my   headstrong!    where    have    you    been 

gadding  ? 
jFul.     Where  I  have  learn'd  me  to  repent  the  sin 

Of  disobedient  opposition 

To  you  and  your  behests,  and  am  enjoin'd 

By  holy  Laurence  to  fall  prostrate  here,  20 

9.     [Exit....]     Capell.      om.  QqFf.             [Enter  Juliet.]  After  line  15,  Dyce. 

...Sec.  Servant.  Dyce,  Cambr.  Clarke. 

9-1 1.     Go. .. Laurence  flVo^Q.  Two             15.     See...shrift'\  Separate  line,  Ff. 

lines,  the  first  ending  time  in  Qq.  Prose                     shrift. ..look']  her  confession  Pope, 

in  Q3Q4.  Ff,  Rowe.  Han.  from  (QJ. 

14.     selfwiird]  selfewield  Q,.  selfe             16.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

■willde   Qj.      selfe-wilVd    Q^Q^.  selfe-             17,     me]  om.  Q  Q . 
wild  F.F,.     self-wild  Y^^. 

14.  harlotry]  Del.  Sh.  has  also  elsewhere  used  this  abstract  for  the  concrete 
not  only  in  its  own  proper  signification,  but  also  in  a  forced  meaning  as  a  term  of 
reproach;  thus,  and  with  the  same  adjective  as  here,  in  i  Hen.  IV:  III,  i,  198, 
spoken  of  the  headstrong  Lady  Mortimer. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  It  is  used  both  as  an  adjective  and  substantive.  In  i  Hen.  IV  • 
II,  iv,  436,  Mrs.  Quickly  speaks  of  '  these  harlotry  players.' 

White.  [Note  on  i  Hen.  IV:  III,  i,  198].  This  phrase  was  used  with  as  little 
meaning  of  reproach  in  Elizabeth's  time  as  '  slut'  was  in  Queen  Anne's,  or  as  Lady 
Percy  implies  in  calling  her  restive  husband  *  thief.' 

16.  gadding]  Steev.  The  primitive  sense  of  this  word  was  to  straggle  from 
house  to  house,  and  collect  money,  under  pretence  of  singing  carols  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin.     See  T.  Warton's  note  on  Milton's  Lycidas,  v.  40. 

Douce.  Steevens's  derivation  seems  too  refined.  Warton's  authority  is  an  old 
register  at  Gadderston,  in  these  words :  '  Receyvid  at  the  gadyng  with  Saynte  Mary 
songe  at  Crismas.'  If  the  original  were  attentively  examined,  it  would  perhaps  turn 
out  that  the  word  in  question  has  some  mark  of  contraction  over  it,  which  would 
convert  it  \r\.\.o gaderyng — i.e.,  gathering  or  collecting  money,  and  not  simply ^^'ng" 
about  from  house  to  house,  according  to  Warton's  explanation. 

20.  prostrate  here]  White.  The  scene  as  it  stands  in  (Q,)  I  believe  to  have 
been  chiefly  supplied  from  memory  by  some  inferior  versifier  employed  by  the 
publisher. 

P 


226  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act.  iv,  sc  il 

To  beg  your  pardon  :  pardon,  I  beseech  you  ! 
Henceforward  I  am  ever  ruled  by  you. 

Cap.     Send  for  the  county ;  go,  tell  him  of  this : 
I'll  have  this  knot  knit  up  to-morrow  morning. 

Jul.     I  met  the  youthful  lord  at  Laurence'  cell,  25 

And  gave  him  what  becomed  love  I  might, 
Not  stepping  o'er  the  bounds  of  modesty. 

Cap.     Why,  I  am  glad  on't ;  this  is  well :  stand  up : 
This  is  as't  should  be. — Let  me  Sv?e  the  county; 
Ay,  marry,  go,  I  say,  and  fetch  him  hither. —  30 

Now,  afore  God,  this  reverend  holy  friar, 
All  our  whole  city  is  much  bound  to  him. 

jful.     Nurse,  will  you  go  with  me  into  my  closet, 
To  help  me  sort  such  needful  ornaments 
As  you  think  fit  to  furnish  me  to-morrow?  35 

La.  Cap.     No,  not  till  Thursday;  there  is  time  enough. 

Cap.     Go,  nurse,  go  with  her : — we'll  to  church  to-morrow. 

\Exeimt  yuliet  and  Nt^rse. 

La.  Cap.     We  shall  be  short  in  our  provision : 
Tis  now  near  night. 

Cap.  Tush,  I  will  stir  about, 

21.      To  beg'\    QqFf,  Rowe,   Capell,  Capell. 
Knt.  Sing.   (ed.  2),  Sta.  Cambr.  Cham.  31.     reverend   Ao/yJ    holy   reverend 

Klly.    And  beg  Pope,  &c.  Var.  et  cet.  Qj,  Capell. 

23.     county\    Count    F^F^F^,  Rowe,  32.     to  him]    to  hymn  Warb.    conj. 

Pope.  unto  (Q,)  Steev.  conj. 

26.     becomed]     becomd    Q^Q,.      be-  36.     there  is]  there's  F,. 

commed    Q.Q,.      becoming   Rowe,   &c.  37.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

26.  becomed]  Steev.  For  becoming ;  one  participle  for  another, — a  frequent 
practice  in  Sh.'s  day.     \^Sing.  Huds.  White. 

Del.  That  is,  such  love  as  was  befitting.  It  is  not  precisely  the  same  as  •  becoming 
love,'  which  means  such  love  as  is  befitting. 

39.  near  night]  Mal.  In  III,  v,  Romeo  parted  from  his  bride  at  daybreak  on 
Tuesday  morning.  Immediately  afterwards  she  went  to  Friar  Laurence,  and  he 
particularly  mentions  (IV,  i,  90)  that  the  next  day  is  Wednesday.  She  could  not 
well  have  remained  more  than  an  hour  or  two  with  the  Friar,  and  she  is  just  now 
returned  from  shrift ;  yet  Lady  Capulet  says,  '  'Tis  near  night^  and  this  same  night 
is  ascertained  to  be  Tuesday.  This  is  one  of  the  many  instances  of  Sh.'s  inaccuracy 
hi  the  computation  of  time. 

Ulr.  Malone  is  perfectly  right,  and  would  never  have  made  such  a  mistake; — but 
Sh.,  marry,  was  no  Malone. 

Clarke.  If  the  indications  of  time  be  examined  in  the  present  play,  we  shall  see 
Sow  ingeniously  Sh.  has  taken  pains  to  trace  it  all  along.     In  Scene  i,  the  Prince 


ACTiv,  sc.  iij  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  227 

And  all  things  shall  be  well,  I  warrant  thee,  wife :  40 

Go  thou  to  Juliet,  help  to  deck  up  her ; 

I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ;  let  me  alone  ; 

I'll  play  the  housewife  for  this  once. — What,  ho ! — 

They  are  all  forth :  well,  I  will  walk  myself 

To  County  Paris,  to  prepare  him  up  45 

Against  to-morrow:  my  heart  is  wondrous  light. 

Since  this  same  wayward  girl  is  so  reclaim'd.  [Exeunt. 

41.     up  her]  her  up  Lettsom  conj.  46,     heart  is\  heart'' s  Pope,  &c.  Dyce 

45.     him  up]  up  him  Qq,  Coll.  (ed.         (ed.  2). 
l),  Ulr.  Huds.  Sta.  White. 

desires  Capulet  to  go  wilh  him  at  once,  and  Montague  to  come  to  him  '  this  after- 
noon.' In  Scene  ii,  Capulet  speaks  of  Montague  being  '  bound'  as  well  as  himself, 
which  indicates  that  the  Prince's  charge  had  just  been  given  to  both  of  them,  and 
shortly  after  speaks  of  the  festival  at  his  house  '  this  night.'  At  this  festival  Romeo 
sees  Juliet  when  she  speaks  of  sending  to  him  *  to-morrow ;'  and  on  that '  morrow' 
the  lovers  are  united  by  Friar  Laurence.  Act  III  opens  with  the  scene  where 
Tybalt  kills  Mercutio,  and  during  which  scene  Romeo's  words, '  Tybalt,  that  an  hour 
hath  been  my  kinsman,'  show  that  the  then  time  is  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day. 
The  Friar,  at  the  close  of  Scene  iii  of  that  Act  bids  Romeo  *  good  night;'  and  in  the 
next  scene,  Paris,  in  reply  to  Capulet's  inquiry,  '  What  day  is  this  ?'  replies,  'Monday, 
my  lord.'  This,  by  the  way,  denotes  that  the  '  old  accustomed  feast'  of  the  Capu- 
lets,  according  to  a  usual  practice  in  Catholic  countries,  was  celebrated  on  a  Sunday 
evening.  In  Scene  v  of  Act  III  comes  the  parting  of  the  lovers  at  the  dawn  of 
Tuesday,  and  when,  at  the  close  of  the  scene,  Juliet  says  she  shall  repair  to  Friar 
Laurence'  cell.  Act  IV  commences  with  her  appearance  there,  thus  carrying  on  th. 
action  during  the  same  day,  Tuesday.  But  the  effect  of  long  time  is  introduced  by 
the  mention  of '  evening  mass,'  and  by  the  Friar's  detailed  directions  and  reference  to 
•  to-morrow's  night ;'  so  that  when  the  mind  has  been  prepared  by  the  change  of 
scene,  by  Capulet's  anxious  preparations  for  the  wedding,  and  by  Juliet's  return  to 
filial  submission,  there  seems  no  violence  done  to  the  imagination  by  Lady  Capulet's 
remarking,  •  'Tis  now  near  night.'  Nay,  it  is  one  of  Sh.'s  expedients  in  dramatic 
limft  for  bringing  on  the  period  of  the  catastrophe;  for  Juliet  retires  to  her  own  room 
with  the  intention  of  selecting  wedding  attire  for  the  next  morning,  which  her  father 
has  said  shall  be  that  of  the  marriage,  anticipating  it  by  a  whole  day — Wednesday 
instead  of  Thursday — thus  naturally  preparing  for  the  immediate  sequence  of  the 
incidents  in  the  remainder  of  Act  IV. 

41.  up  her]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  '  Should  not  the  preposition  come  last  [as  in  "pre- 
pare him  up,"  line  45,  and  "  trim  her  up,"  IV,  iv,  25],  the  pronoun  not  being  em- 
phatic?'— W.  N.  Lettsom. 

45.  him  up]  Del.  The  Ff  yield  the  better  reading.  The  pronoun  is  do« 
emphatic. 


228  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Scene  III.     Jtiliet's  chamber. 

Enter  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

yiil.     Ay,  those  attires  are  best :  but,  gentle  nurse, 
I  pray  thee,  leave  me  to  myself  to-night ; 
For  I  have  need  of  many  orisons 
To  move  the  heavens  to  smile  upon  my  state. 
Which,  well  thou  know'st,  is  cross  and  full  of  sin.  ^ 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.     What,  are  you  busy,  ho  ?  need  you  my  help  ? 

yul.     No,  madam  ;  we  have  cuU'd  such  necessaries 
As  are  behoveful  for  our  state  to-morrow : 
So  please  you,  let  me  now  be  left  alone. 

And  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  you,  lo 

For  I  am  sure  you  have  your  hands  full  all 
In  this  so  sudden  business. 

La.  Cap.  Good  night : 

Get  thee  to  bed  and  rest,  for  thou  hast  need. 

\Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse, 

jfid.     Farewell ! — God  knows  when  we  shall  meet  again. 
I  have  a  faint  cold  fear  thrills  through  my  veins,  15 

That  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  of  life : 
I'll  call  them  back  again  to  comfort  me. 
Nurse ! — What  should  she  do  here  ? 
My  dismal  scene  I  needs  must  act  alone. — 

Scene  ni.]  Rowe.   Scene  rv.  CapeiL  14.  /arrtw^///]  Separate  line,  F£ 

Juliet's  chamber.]  Rowe.  i6.  life']  fire  Ff,  Rowe. 

5.  know' St]  knawest  ClJ^fl^.  17.  again]  om.  Y ^. 

6.  ho?. ...my]  do  you  need  my  {Q^)  18.  Nurse! — ]  Han.  Nurse — 
Pope,  &c.  Var.  Sing.  Ktly.  Need  yoit  Rowe,  &c.  Nurse :  (X.  Nurse,  Th« 
any  Com.  rest. 

8.     behoveful]  behovid  Com. 


15.   cold  fear  thrills]  Mal.    So  in  Romeus  and  Juliet: 


'  Her  dainty  tender  partes  gan  shever  all  for  dred. 
Her  golden  heares  did  stand  upright  upon  her  chillish  bed. 
Then  pressed  with  the  feare  that  she  there  lived  in, 
A  sweat  as  coldt  as  mountaint yu ptarst  thrcugh  her  sUruJ*r  tiin.'    ..Sl^ 


ACT  IV,  sc  Hi.]  ROMEO    AND   JULIET.  229 

Come,  vial. —  20 

What  if  this  mixture  do  not  work  at  all  ? 
Shall  I  be  married  then  to-morrow  morning  ? 
No,  no  : — this  shall  forbid  it. — Lie  thou  there. — 

\Laying  down  a  dagger. 
What  if  it  be  a  poison,  which  the  friar 

Subtly  hath  minister'd  to  have  me  dead,  25 

Lest  in  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonour'd. 
Because  he  married  me  before  to  Romeo  ? 

20,  21.     Come,  vial!     What^  As  in  Mai.  Var.  Dyce  (ed.  2).     Shall  I  of 

Han.     In  the  same  line  in  QqFf,  Rowe,  force  be  married  to  the  Count  Pope,  &c. 

&c.     Come,  phial,  come !  Ktly,  reading  then\  om.  F  ,  Rowe. 

Nurse.... come  I  as  two   lines,   the   first  23.     it.    Lie']  it: — inife,lie'LQttsom 

ending  scene.  conj.  from  (Q,). 

22.     Shall.. ..morning']      Must  I  of  [Laying...]  Johns.     Pointing  to 

force  be  married  to  the   Countie  (QJ  a  Dagger.  Rowe,  &c.   om.  QqFf. 

22.  to-morrow  morning]  Knt.  This  speech,  like  many  others  of  the  great 
passages  throughout  the  play,  received  the  most  careful  elaboration  and  the  most 
minute  touching. 

Dyce  pronounces  this  line  much  more  '  tame'  than  that  from  (Q,). 

23.  Lie  thou  there]  Steev.  It  appears,  from  several  passages  in  our  old  plays, 
that  knives  were  formerly  part  of  the  accoutrements  of  a  bride,  and  everything 
behoveful  for  Juliet's  state  had  just  been  left  with  her.  So  in  Decker's  Match  Me  in 
London,  1631 :  '  See  at  my  girdle  hang  my  wedding  knives  P  Again,  in  King 
Edward  III,    1599:    'Here  at  my  side  do  hang  my  wedding  knives.'      Again: 

« there  was  a  maid  named,  &c. — She  tooke  one  of  her  knives  that  was  some 

halfe  a  foote  long,'  &c.  &c.  '  And  it  was  found  in  all  respects  like  to  the  other 
that  was  in  her  sheath.^ — Goulart's  Admirable  Histories,  1607,  pp.  176,  178.  In 
Sidney's  Arcadia,  b.  iii,  we  are  likewise  informed  that  Amphialus  '  in  his  crest  car- 
ried Philoclea's  knives,  the  only  token  of  her  forced  favour.'     \^Hal. 

Mal.  In  order  to  account  for  Juliet's  having  a  dagger,  it  is  not  necessary  to  have 
recourse  to  the  ancient  accoutrements  of  brides,  how  prevalent  soever  the  custom 
may  have  been ;  for  Juliet  appears  to  have  furnished  herself  with  this  instrument 
immediately  after  her  father  and  mother  had  threatened  to  force  her  to  marry  Paris : 
•  If  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die.'  Accordingly,  in  the  very  next  scene, 
when  she  is  at  the  Friar's  cell,  and  before  she  could  have  been  furnished  with  any 
of  the  apparatus  of  a  bride  (not  having  then  consented  to  marry  the  count),  she 
says :  *  'Twixt  me  and  my  extremes  this  bloody  knife  shall,'  &c.     [Hal. 

BosWELL.  Gifford,  in  a  note  on  Jonson's  Staple  of  News,  informs  us  that  in  Sh.'s 
time  '  daggers,  or,  as  they  were  more  commonly  called,  knives,  were  worn  at  all 
times  by  every  woman  in  England.'  [SiNG.  finishes  the  sentence]  :  '  Whether  they 
were  so  worn  in  Italy,  Sh.,  I  believe,  never  inquired,  and  I  cannot  tell.'  \^Coli. 
Verp.  Huds.  Hal. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).   It  certainly  was  the  case. 

Dyce.  (ed.  2).   'The  omission  of  "knife"  is  peculiarly  awkward,  as  Juliet  hai 
been  addressing  (he  vial  ju.st  before.' — W.  N.  Lettsom. 
20 


230  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv.  sc.  iii 

I  fear  it  is :  and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not, 

For  he  hath  still  been  tried  a  holy  man. 

How  if,  when  I  am  laid  into  the  tomb,  30 

I  wake  before  the  time  that  Romeo 

Come  to  redeem  me  ?  there's  a  fearful  point ! 

Shall  I  not  then  be  stifled  in  the  vault, 

To  whose  foul  mouth  no  healthsome  air  breathes  in, 

And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Romeo  comes  ?  35 

Or,  if  I  live,  is  it  not  very  like, 

The  horrible  conceit  of  death  and  night, 

Together  with  the  terror  of  the  place, — 

As  in  a  vault,  an  ancient  receptacle, 

Where  for  these  many  hundred  years  the  bones  40 

Of  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  pack'd ; 

29.     a  holy^  an  holy  Q  .  32.  Come']  Comes  Pope,  Hi.. 

man.'\    man:  I  will  not  enter-  t^t^.  stijled]  stijjled  (^^f). 

'ain  so  bad  a  thought.  (QJ  Steev.  Var.  35.  die'\  be  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

Coll.  Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Clarke,  Hal.  Dyce  36.  is  it]  it  is  Rowe,  Pope, 

(ed.  2),  Ktly.  40.  these]  this  Q^,  Cambr. 

29.  holy  man]  Coll.  The  line  adopted  by  Steevens  from  (QJ  seenu 
necessary  to  the  completeness  of  the  rejection  of  Juliet's  suspicion  of  the  Friar. 
IVerp. 

Ulr.  If  it  be  assumed  that  Juliet,  or  rather  Sh.,  wishes  to  thrust  aside  utterly 
the  suspicion  which  comes  up  in  her  mind,  then  this  line  is  absolutely  necessary. 
But  it  may  fairly  be  asked  whether  this  were  the  intention  of  the  poet.  It  was 
emphatically  so  according  to  the  text  of  (Q,).  On  the  other  hand,  the  enlarging  and 
revising  which  the  whole  monologue  received  in  the  '  corrected,  augmented,  and 
amended'  edition  of  Q^  consists  precisely  herein  that  Sh,  brings  forward  far  more 
strongly  and  impressively  than  in  (QJ  the  doubts,  the  apprehensions,  and  horror 
which  seize  Juliet's  soul  at  the  sight  of  the  vial  which  she  must  drain,  and  this  is 
done  manifestly  to  place  in  clearer  light  the  loftiness  of  her  resolve  and  the  depth 
of  her  love  and  fidelity.  With  this  in  view  it  would  clearly  be  very  little  to  the 
purpose  to  represent  the  suspicion  aroused  against  Laurence  as  wholly  allayed.  On 
the  contrary,  it  must  remain,  even  if  it  amounts  to  only  a  dubious  apprehension. 

White.  There  is  no  necessity  which  justifies  the  resumption  of  the  line  from  (Q,). 

Cl.\RKE.  This  line  from  (Q^)  seems  to  us  so  characteristic  of  Juliet  in  its  sweet, 
girlish  simplicity  and  trustfulness  that  we  believe  it  to  have  been  what  Sh.  wrote 
and  intended  to  retain,  and  that  it  was  omitted  by  mistake  in  QqFf. 

37.  conceit]  Del.  That  is,  the  effect  which  Death  and  Night  in  the  vaults  of 
the  Capulets  would  have  upon  Juliet's  imagination. 

39.  As  in  a  vault]  Steev.  This  idea  was  probably  suggested  to  Sh.  by  his 
native  place.  Tlie  chamel  at  Stalford-upon-Avon  is  a  verj'  large  one,  and  perhaps 
contains  a  greater  number  of  bones  than  are  to  be  found  in  ar.y  other  repository  of 
the  same  kind  in  England.     \_Sing.  Knt.  Verp.  Huds. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  23 1 

Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth. 

Lies  festering  in  his  shroud ;  where,  as  they  say 

At  some  hours  in  the  night  spirits  resort ; — 

Alack,  alack,  is  it  not  like  that  I  45 

So  early  waking, — what  with  loathsome  smells 

And  shrieks  like  mandrakes'  torn  out  of  the  earth, 

45.     Alack,  alack'\  Alas,  alas !  Pope,  47.     mandrakes''\     Capell     (Errata). 

&c.  mandrakes  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Sing.  Ktly. 

47.     shriiks'\  F  ,   shrikes  The  rest.  mandrake' s  Johns. 

43.  Lies  festering]  Steev.  To  fester  is  to  corrupt.  So,  in  King  Edward  III, 
1599  :  '  Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds.'  This  line  likewise  occurs  in 
the  94th  Sonnet  of  Sh.     The  play  of  Edward  III  has  been  ascribed  to  him.    \^Sing. 

45.  is  it  not  like]  Del.  This  repeats  the  previous  question,  '  Is  it  not  very 
like,'  without  completing  the  sentence  to  which  '  the  horrible  conceit'  is  the  subject — 
a  Shakespearian  anacoluthon  which  here  marks  Juliet's  excitement. 

47.  mandrakes]  Steev.  The  mandrake  (says  Thomas  Newton  in  his  Herball 
of  the  Bible,  1587)  has  been  idly  represented  as  '  a  creature  having  life  and  engen- 
dered under  the  earth  of  the  seed  of  some  dead  person,  who  hath  beene  convicted 
and  put  to  death  for  some  felonie  or  murther;  and  that  they  had  the  same  in  such 
dampish  and  funerall  places,  where  the  said  convicted  persons  were  buried,'  &c. 
[.S"/«^.  Huds.  Hal.  Clarke."]  In  Webster's  Duchess  of  Malfy,  1623:  'I  have  this 
night  dug  up  a  mandrake.  And  am  grown  mad  with  it.'  Again,  in  the  Atheist's 
Tiagedy,  1611:  'The  cries  of  mandrakes  never  touch'd  the  ear  With  more  sad 
horror.'  In  A  Christian  turn'd  Turk,  1612:  'I'll  rather  give  an  ear  to  the  black 
shrieks  Of  mandrakes,'  <S:c.  In  Aristippus  or  the  Jovial  Philosopher :  *  This  is  the 
mandrake's  voice  that  undoes  me.'     \_Hal, 

Nares.  The  English  name  of  Mandragoras.  An  inferior  degree  of  animal  life 
was  attributed  to  it,  and  it  was  commonly  supposed  that  when  torn  from  the  ground 
it  uttered  groans  of  so  pernicious  a  nature  that  the  person  who  committed  the  vio- 
lence went  mad  or  died.  To  escape  that  danger  it  was  recommended  to  tie  one 
end  of  a  string  to  the  plant  and  the  other  to  a  dog,  upon  whom  the  fat^.  groan 
would  then  discharge  its  full  malignity.  See  Bulleine's  Bulwarke  of  Defence 
against  Sicknesse,  p.  41.  These  strange  notions  arose,  probably,  from  the  little  less 
fanciful  comparison  of  the  root  to  the  human  figure,  strengthened,  doubtless,  in 
England  by  the  accidental  circumstance  of  man  being  the  first  syllable  of  the  word. 
The  ancients,  however,  made  the  same  comparison  of  its  form : 

'Quamvis  sentihominis,  vesano  gramine  fceta, 
Mandragorae  pariat  flores.' — Columella,  de  I.  Hori.,  v,  19. 

The  white  mandrake,  which  they  called  the  male,  was  that  whose  root  bore  thi* 
resemblance.  Lyte  says  of  it,  '  The  roole  is  great  and  white,  not  muche  unlyke  a 
radishe  roote  divided  into  two  or  three  partes  and  sometimes  growing  one  upou 
another,  almost  lyke  the  legges  and  thighes  of  a  man.' — Transl.  of  Dodoens,  p.  437. 
It  is  supposed  to  cause  death,  in  2  Hen.  VI:  III,  ii,  310.  A  very  diminutive  or 
grotesque  figure  was  often  compared  to  a  mandrake ;  that  is,  to  the  root,  as  above 
described.     So  in  2  Hen.  IV:  I,  ii,  17.     It  was  sometimes  considered  as  an  emblem 


232  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  fACT  iv,  sc.  ui 

That  living  mortals  hearing  them  run  mad : — 

O,  if  I  wake,  shall  I  not  be  distraught, 

Environed  with  all  these  hideous  fears  ?  50 

And  madly  play  with  my  forefathers'  joints  ? 

And  pluck  the  mangled  Tybalt  from  his  shroud  ? 

And,  in  this  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman's  bone. 

As  with  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains  ? — 

O,  look !  methinks  I  see  my  cousin's  ghost  55 

Seeking  out  Romeo,  that  did  spit  his  body 

Upon  a  rapier's  point : — stay,  Tybalt,  stay  ! — 

Romeo,  I  come !  this  do  I  drink  to  thee. 

\She  throws  herself  on  the  bed. 

49.     C,  «/"/7£'tf>tif]  Han.   0  if  I  walke  (ed.    l),    Coll.    (ed.    i),    Ulr.      Romeo, 

QjQjF,.    Or  if  I  wake  Q^Qj,  Pope,  &c.  her^s  drink  !   Romeo,  I  drink  to  thee. 

Q)ll.  (MS).    Or  if  I  waike  F,.    Or  if  I  Johns.    Romeo,  Romeo,  Romeo,  I  drink 

walk  FjF  ,  Rowe,  to  thee.  Knight  (ed.  2),  Del.  Sing.  (ed. 

51.    Joints']  ioynes  Qj.  2),  WTiite,  Hal. 

53.    great     kinsman's]     great-kins-  I  come,  this  do]  Romeo,  here's 

man's  Del.  conj.  drink  Nicholson  conj.* 

57.  a]  Qq.  my  F,.  his  F^FjF^,  She...bed.]  Pope.  cm.  QqFf.  Exit, 
Rowe.  Rowe.    Drinks ;  throws  away  the  Vial, 

stay/]  stay  Romeo, —  or  stay, —  and  casts  herself  upon  the  Bed.    Scene 

Romeo,  Nicholson  conj.*  closes.  Capell.     She  falls  upon  her  bed, 

58.  Romeo,... thee]  (Q,)  Pope.  Ro-  within  the  curtains.  (QJ  Cambr.  She 
meo,  Romeo,  Romeo,  heeres  drinke,  I  drinks  and.. ..bed.  Coll.  (ed.  2),  Dyce 
drinke  to  thee.  QqFf,  substantially,  Knt.  (ed.  2),  Ktly. 

of  incontinence ;  probably  because  it  resembled  only  the  lower  parts  of  a  man ;  as 
in  2  Hen.  IV :  IH,  ii,  338.     \_Dyce. 

Sta.  •  Therefore  they  did  tye  some  dogge  or  other  lyving  beast  unto  the  roote 
thereof  wyth  a  corde,  and  digged  the  earth  in  compasse  round  about,  and  in  the 
meane  tyme  stopped  their  own  eares  for  feare  of  the  terreble  shriek  and  cry  of  this 
Mandrack.  In  whych  cry  it  doth  not  only  dye  itselfe,  but  the  feare  thereof  kylleth 
the  dogge  or  beast  which  pulleth  it  out  of  the  earth.' — Bulleine's  Bulwark  of  De- 
fence against  Sicknesse,  1575. 

Halliwell.  '  Whereas  the  Latine  texte  hath  here  somnia  speculantes  Mandra- 
gore,  I  have  translated  it  in  Englishe,  our  minds  all  occupied  wyth  mad  fantastical! 
dreames,  because  Mandragora  is  an  herbe,  as  phisycions  saye,  that  causeth  folke  to 
slepe,  and  therein  to  have  many  mad  fantastical  dreames.' — Sir  T.  More's  JVorket, 

'557- 
49.  distraught]  Steev.    i.  e.,  distracted.     {^Sing.  Clarke. 

53.   great  kinsman's  bone]    Del.    This   is   compounded,  like  great-nephew, 

great-grandfather  and  the  like. 

57.  stay,  Tybalt,  stay !]  Del.  She  does  not  call  upon  Tybalt  to  remain,  but  to 
bold.     In  her  vision  she  imagines  that  he  is  going  to  hurt  her  lover  Romeo. 

58.  Romeo,  I  come]  Dyce  {'Remarks,'  &c.,  p.  175).  The  line  in  QqFf  i> 
9ar»ly  (  )mposed  of  a  stage-direction,  'Pere  drink'  having  evidently  crept  into  the 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  233 

Scene  IV.     Hall  iti  Capulet's  house. 

Enter  LADY  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

La.  Cap.     Hold,  take  these  keys,  and  fetch  more  spices,  nurse 
Nurse.     They  call  for  dates  and  quinces  in  the  pastry. 

Scene  iv.]  Rowe.    Scene  v.  Capell.  i.    Hold,']  Separate  line,  Ff. 

Hall...]  Dyce.   A  Hall.  Rowe.  Capu-  2.     [Exit  Nurse.  Sing.  Huds.  KUy. 

let's  Hall.  Theob. 

text  and  become  'here's  drink.'     \_DeL  Sing.  (ed.  2),  Huds.  White,  Cambr,  Knt. 
(ed.  2). 

Coleridge  {Lit.  Rem.  vol.  ii,  p.  157).  Sh.  provides  for  the  finest  decencies,  it 
would  have  been  too  bold  a  thing  for  a  girl  of  fifteen ;  but  she  swallows  the  draught 
in  a  fit  of  fright.     \_Huds. 

Hudson.  Schlegel  has  the  same  thought :  '  Her  imagination  falls  into  an  uproar ,- 
so  many  terrors  bewilder  the  tender  brain  of  the  maiden, — and  she  drinks  off  the 
cup  in  a  tumult,  to  drain  which  with  composure  would  have  evinced  a  too  masculine 
resolvedness.' 

Knt.  (Stratford  ed.).  We  do  not  adopt  the  reading  of  (QJ,  because  'I  come' 
would  seem  to  imply  that  Romeo  was  dead  and  Juliet  was  about  to  meet  him  in 
another  world.     \_Dyce  (ed.  i). 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  neither  admire  Knight's  reficted  line,  nor  acknowledge  the  forct 
of  his  objection  to  'I  come.^ 

Stage-direction]  Coll.  The  'curtains'  were  'the  traverse,'  as  it  was  called,  at 
the  back  of  the  stage. 

Dyce  {'Life  of  Sh.^  p.  42,  ed.  2).  At  the  third  sounding,  or  flourish  of  trumpets, 
the  exhibition  began.  The  curtain,  which  concealed  the  stage  from  the  audience, 
was  then  drawn,  opening  in  the  middle  and  running  upon  iron  rods.  Other  cur- 
tains, called  traverses,  were  used  as  a  substitute  for  scenes.  At  the  back  of  the 
stage  was  a  balcony,  the  platform  of  which  was  raised  about  eight  or  nine  feet  from 
the  ground;  it  served  as  a  window,  gallery,  or  upper  chamber;  from  it  a  portion  of 
the  dialogue  was  sometimes  spoken,  and  in  front  of  it  curtains  were  suspended  to 
conceal,  if  necessary,  those  who  occupied  it  from  the  audience.  The  internal  roof 
of  the  stage,  either  painted  blue  or  adorned  with  drapery  of  that  colour,  was  termed 
the  heavens.  The  stage  was  generally  strewed  with  rushes,  but  on  extraordinary 
occasions  was  matted.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that  when  tragedies  were  per- 
formed it  was  hung  with  black.     Movable  painted  scenery  there  was  none : 

'  The  air- blest  castle,  round  whose  wholesome  crest 
The  martlet,  guest  of  summer,  chose  her  nest, — 
The  forest  walks  of  Arden's  fair  domain, 
Where  Jacques  fed  his  solitary  vein  ; 
No  pencil's  aid  as  yet  had  dar'd  supply. 
Seen  only  by  the  intellectusl  eye.' — Charles  Lami. 

A  board,  containing  the  name  of  the  place  of  action  in  large  letters,  was  displayed 
in  some  conspicuous  situation.     At  times,  when  a  change  of  scene  was  necessary, 
the  audirnce  was  required  to  suppose  that  the  performers,  who  had  not  quitted  the 
20  » 


234  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  iv. 

Enter  Capulet. 

Cap.     Come,  otir,  stir,  stir !  the  second  cock  hath  crow'd, 
The  curfew-bell  hath  rung,  'tis  three  o'clock : 

Enter...]   Rowe.    Enter  old  Capulet.  3.     Cotne...cro7v'd'\  Two  lines,  Ff. 

Q(lFf.    ...hastily.  Capell.  4.     o'clock}  Theob.     a  clock  QqFf. 

stage,  liad  passed  to  a  different  spot.  A  bed  thrust  forth  showed  that  the  stage  was 
a  bed-chamber;  and  a  table  with  pen  and  ink  indicated  that  it  was  a  counting-house. 
Rude  contrivances  were  employed  to  imitate  towers,  walls  of  towns,  hell-moulhs, 
tombs,  trees,  dragons,  &c. ;  trap-doors  had  been  early  in  use ;  but  to  make  a  celes- 
tial personage  ascend  to  the  roof  of  the  stage  was  more  than  the  mechanists  of  those 
days  could  always  accomplish.  \^Foot  Note.  A  stage-direction  at  the  end  of  Greene's 
Alphonsus  is,  'Exit  Ventts  ;  or,  if  you  can  conveniently,  let  a  chair  come  down  from 
the  top  of  the  stage  and  draw  her  up.'  See  Greene's  Dramatic  and  Poetical  IVorks, 
p.  248,  ed.  Dyce,  1861.] 

2.  pastry]  Mal.  That  is,  in  the  room  where  paste  was  made.  So  laundry, 
spicery,  &c.     \^Sing.  Coll.  Nuds.  Sta.  Cham. 

Sta. 

'  Now  having  seene  all  this,  then  shall  you  see,  hard  by 
"Vht  paitrie ,  mealehouse,  and  the  roome  wheras  the  coales  do  ly.' — 

A  Floorish  upon  FancU,  by  N[icholasj  B[reton],  Gtttt.  158a. 

Dyce.    'A  Pastery,  pistrina,  placentiaria? — Coles's  Lat.  and  Eng.  Diet. 

White.  That  is,  in  the  place  where  paste,  which  we  now  incorrectly  call  pastry, 
IS  made.  'Pastry,'  meaning  a  place,  is  analogous  with  'dairy,'  'aviary,'  'but- 
tery,' &c.,  &c. 

Clarke.  Just  as  '  pantr}''  was  the  name  given  to  the  room  where  bread  (Latin, 
panis)  in  former  times  was  exclusively  kept ;  and  '  laundry'  to  the  one  where  wash- 
ing (old  French,  lavattderie)  was  dene. 

2.  dates]  Beisly.  Dr.  Moffet,  in  'Health  Improvement,'  says  of  dates:  'They 
are  usually  put  into  stewed  broths,  mince-pies  and  restorative  cullices,  as  though 
they  were  of  great  and  wholesome  nourishment.'  William  Turner  does  not  speak 
so  favorably  of  them,  '  as  they  fill  the  stomach  full  of  wind,  and  are  hurtful  to  them 
that  are  disposed  to  the  tooth-ache.  WTierefore  our  sweete-lipped  Londoners  and 
wanton  courtiers  do  not  wysely  to  suflfer  so  many  dates  to  be  put  into  their  pyes  and 
other  meats,  to  the  great  charge  of  their  purses,  and  to  no  less  undoing  of  the  health 
of  their  bodies.'  In  Westmacott's  'Scripture  Herbal'  it  is  said  of  dates  'that  astrolo- 
gers have  given  them  to  Mars,  perhaps  to  please  the  lady  Venus  with.'  In  Sylves- 
ter's '  Dubartas'  the  date  and  olive  are  noticed  as  aiding  appetite.  Gerarde  notices 
the  Quince,  and  says  '  the  marmalad  or  cotiniat  of  quinces  is  good  and  profitable  to 
strengthen  the  stomach,  that  it  may  retain  and  keep  the  meat  therein,  until  it  be  per- 
fectly digested.' 

4.  The  curfew-bell]  Nares.  The  evening  bell, — couvre  feu.  The  origin  and 
purpose  of  this  bell  are  well  known.  The  original  time  for  ringing  it  was  eight  in 
(he  evening;  and  we  are  tola  by  some  writers  that  in  many  villages  the  name  is  still 
retamed  for  the  evening  bell.  Brand,  in  his  observations  on  Bourne's  Antiquities, 
says :  '  We  retain  also  a  vestige  of  the  old  Norman  curfew  at  eight  in  the  eve- 
ning' ( chap.  i).     In  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton  it  is  re])resented  as  having  goJ 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iv.]  XOMEO  AND   JULIET.  235 

Look  to  the  baked  meats,  good  Angelica :  5 

Spare  not  for  cost. 
Nurse.  Go,  you  cot-quean,  go, 

6.     Nurse.]  La.  Cap.  Sing.  (Z.Jack-  pell,  Var.  et  cet. 

son  conj.),  Verp.  Huds.  Ktly.  6,  7.    go,  Get'\  go. — [To  Cap. J     Get 

Go]  QqFf,  Knt.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cham.  Hunter  conj.  (withdrawn), 
Cambr.  Kily.     Go,  go  Theob.,  &c.  Ca- 

an  hour  later :  '  Well,  'tis  tn'm  o'clock,  'tis  time  to  ring  the  cur/nv.' — O.  PI,  v.  292. 
By  [this]  passage  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  it  seems  that  the  bell  which  was  commonly 
used  for  that  purpose  obtained  in  time  the  name  of  the  curfew-bell,  and  was  so  called 
whenever  it  rung  on  any  occasion.  ...  At  the  regular  time  it  probably  was  called 
simply  the  curfew  ;  at  others,  if  it  was  known  that  the  same  bell  was  used,  it  might 
be  said,  as  above,  that  the  atrfe^w-bell  had  rung. 

RiTsoN.  The  curfew-bell  is  universally  rung  at  eight  or  nine  o'clock  at  night; 
generally  according  to  the  season.  The  term  is  here  used  with  peculiar  impropriety, 
as  it  is  not  believed  that  any  bell  was  ever  rung  so  early  as  three  in  the  morning. 
The  derivation  of  curfeu  is  well  known ;  but  it  is  a  mere  vulgar  error  that  the  insti- 
tution was  a  badge  of  slavery  imposed  by  the  Norman  Conqueror.  To  put  out  the 
fire  became  necessary  only  because  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  And  if  the  curfew 
commanded  all  fires  to  be  extinguished,  the  morning  bell  ordered  them  to  be 
lighted  again.  In  short,  the  ringing  of  these  two  bells  was  a  manifest  and  essential 
service  to  people  who  had  scarcely  any  other  means  of  measuring  their  time.    \^Cham. 

MiTFORD  ['Gent.  Mag.,'  1845,  p.  579).  Sh.  does  not  mean  that  the  bell  rang  for 
curfew,  but  that  the  same  bell  which  was  used  for  the  curfew  was  now  rung  as  the 
morning  bell. 

Del.  In  all  other  passages  Sh.  uses  curf-iv  in  its  own  proper  signification.  And 
yet  (QJ  has:  The  curfew-bell  hath  rung,  'tis  four  o'clock. 

Ulr.  It  is  veij  unlikely  that  it  should  be  rung  as  early  as  three  o'clock  m  the 
morning;  and  old  Capulet  in  his  furrying  officiousness  only  imagines  that  he  has 
heard  it. 

White.  An  error  inexplicable  to  me.  The  curfew-bcU  was  rung  at  eight  in  the 
evening.  It  is  still  rung  at  nine  in  New  England,  though  within  the  last  ten  years 
the  custom  has  been  rapidly  disappearing.  Sh.  elsewhere  (Meas.  for  Meas.,  IV,  ii, 
78,  and  Lear  III,  iv,  21)  uses  ♦  curfew'  correctly. 

Clarke.  Inasmuch  as  the  same  bell  was  used  for  ringing  the  last  thing  at  night 
and  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  it  is  probable  that  what  is  here  familiarly  called 
'  the  curfew-bell,'  means,  more  strictly  speaking,  '  the  matin-bell.' 

5.  Look  to  the  baked  meats]  Steev.  Sh.  has  here  imputed  to  an  Italian 
nobleman  and  his  lady  all  the  petty  solicitudes  of  a  private  house  concerning  a  pio- 
vincial  entertainment.  To  such  a  bustle  our  author  might  have  been  a  witness  at 
home;  but  the  like  anxieties  could  not  well  have  occurred  in  the  family  of  Capulet, 
whose  wife,  if  Angelica  be  her  name,  is  here  directed  to  perfonn  the  office  of  a 
housekeeper.     \_Hal. 

Mal.  Such  were  the  simple  manners  of  our  poet's  time  that,  without  doubt,  ia 
many  families  much  superior  to  Sh.'s,  the  lady  of  the  house  gave  directions  concern- 
ing the  baked  meats.     \^Hal. 

I'lr.  Vhether  it  be  an  Italian  custom  or  not,  it  is  characteristic  of  the  restless 


236  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  iv 

Get  you  to  bed ,  faith,  you'll  be  sick  to-morrow 
For  this  night's  watching. 

nature  of  old  Capulet  to  be  far  more  concerned  for  the  brilliancy  of  his  festival  than 
for  the  happiness  of  his  daughter. 

5.  good  Angelica]  Del.  It  is  doubtful  whether,  under  this  appellation.  Lady 
Capulet  or  the  Nurse  be  addressed.  Yet  the  former  is  more  likely,  since  spare  nol 
for  cost  more  properly  applies  to  the  Countess  than  to  the  Nurse  in  her  subordinate 
position. 

6.  Nurse]  Z.  Jackson  {'Sh.^s  Genitts  Justified,^  1818,  p.  424).  Can  we  imagine 
that  a  nurse  would  take  so  great  a  liberty  with  her  master  as  to  call  him  a  cot-quean, 
and  order  him  to  bed  ?  Besides,  what  business  has  the  Nurse  to  reply  to  a  speech 
addressed  to  her  mistress?  Lady  Capuiet  afterwards  calls  her  husband  a  mouse- 
hunt  ;  another  appellation  which,  like  cot-quean,  none  but  a  wife  would  dare  to  use. 
[  Verp.  Huds. 

Sing.  (ed.  i).  This  speech  should  surely  be  given  to  Lady  Capulet.  The  Nurse 
had  been  sent  for  spices,  and  is  shortly  after  made  to  re-enter. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  We  can  readily  suppose  that  the  Nurse  was  allowed  considerable 
conversational  license  in  a  family  where  she  had  lived  so  long ;  at  the  same  time  we 
admit  that  there  is  some,  though  not  sufficient,  ground  for  assigning  this  speech  to 
Lady  Capulet. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Walker  ('Crj/.,'  &c.,  vol.  ii,  p.  184)  would  assign  this  speech  to 
Lady  Capulet  (as  Singer  does) ;  but  that  alteration  is  forbidden,  at  least  by  (Q,), 
where  the  next  speech  stands  thus:  *Cap.  I  warrant  thee  Nurse  I  haue  ere  now 
watcht  all  night,  and  haue  taken  no  harme  at  all.'  Theobald's  reading  is  probably 
what  Sh.  wrote. 

Ktlv.  Singer  was  most  certainly  right  in  giving  this  speech  to  Lady  Capulet ;  for 
the  Nurse  was  hardly  present. 

6.  cot-quean]  Nares.  Probably  a  cock-quean — that  is  a  male  quean,  a  man 
who  troubles  himself  with  female  affairs.  It  continued  long  in  use  in  this  sense,  and 
is  quoted  by  Addison,  who  compares  a  woman  meddling  with  state  affairs  to  a  man 
interfering  in  fem?.lc  business,  a  cot-quean,  adding,  '  Each  of  the  sexes  should  keep 
within  its  hounds.'  It  seems  to  have  meant,  also,  a  hen-pecked  husband,  which 
suits  the  same  derivation.  [  Verp.  Huds.'\  In  the  following  passage  it  means  mas- 
culine hussy.  It  is  spoken  by  Ovid,  as  Jupiter,  to  Julia,  as  Juno :  '  We  tell  thee 
thou  angerest  us,  cot-quean;  and  we  will  thunder  thee  in  pieces  for  thy  cot- 
queanity.' — B.  Jons.,  Poetaster,  IV,  iii.      \^Hal. 

Hunter.  A  cot-quean  is  the  wife  of  a  faithless  husband,  and  not,  as  Johnson,  who 
knew  little  of  the  language  of  Sh.'s  time,  explains  it,  '  a  man  who  busies  himself 
about  kitchen  affairs.'  It  occurs  twice  in  Golding's  translation  of  the  Story  of 
Tereus.  The  Nurse  is  speaking  to  Lady  Capulet,  and  the  word  calls  forth  all  th"; 
conversation  which  follows  about  jealousy.  Authorities  for  this  being  the  true  sense 
might  be  produced  in  abundance. 

Dyce  ('Few  Notes'  p.  113).  But  Golding,  in  the  passage  to  which  Hunter  refers,  hai 
cuc-queane,  which  is  a  distinct  word  from  cot-quean,  though  they  are  sometimes  con- 
founded by  early  writers, — a  cuc-quean  (cuck  quean,  or  cock  quean)  meaning  a  she- 
cuckold ;  a  cot-quean,  a  man  who  busies  himself  too  much  in  women's  aflairs.  [Sub- 
stantially, Sing.  (ed.  2),  Coll.  (ed.  2).]  In  Fletcher's  Love's  Care,  Act  II,  Sc.  ii, 
Bcl>adilla  says  to  Lucio  (who  has  been  brought  up  as  a  girl)  :  'Diablo  I  what  should 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iv.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  237 

Cap.     No,  not  a  whit :  what !  I  have  watch'd  ere  now 
Ail  night  for  lesser  cause,  and  ne'er  been  sick.  IP 

La.  Cap.     Ay,  you  have  been  a  mouse-hunt  in  your  time; 

9.  wAa/  /]  om.  F^,  Rowe.  ^2^3'     '^  ^^"  ^4'  Rowe,  &c.  Capell. 

10.  iesser']  lesse  QjQ^FjQj.     a  lesse 

you  do  in  the  kitchen  ?  Cannot  the  cooks  lick  their  fingers,  without  your  overseeing  ? 
nor  the  maids  make  pottage,  except  your  dog's  head  be  in  the  pot  ?  Don  Lucio  ? 
Don  Quot-quean,  Don  Spinster !  wear  a  petticoat  still,  and  put  on  your  smock  a' 
Monday ;  I  will  have  a  baby  o'  clouts  made  for  it,  like  a  great  girl,' — where  '  Quot- 
quean'  is  a  corrupt  form  of  *  Cot-quean.'  Even  in  Addison's  days  the  word  cot' 
quean  was  still  used  to  signify  one  who  is  too  busy  in  meddling  with  women's  affairs. 
See  the  letter  of  an  imaginary  lady  in  The  Spectator,  No,  482.  Hunter's  notion  that 
•  the  Nurse  is  speaking  to  Lady  Capulet'  is,  I  think,  sufficiently  disproved  by  the 
context. 

Hunter.  {'A  Few  Words  in  Reply^  &c.,  1853,  p.  19).  Finding  '  cutquean'  in 
Golding's  Ovid  used  in  a  sense  which  could  be  applied  only  to  a  female,  it  appeared 
to  me  that  this  free  expression  must  be  addressed  to  Lady  Capulet,  and  not  to  her 
husband.  My  idea  was  that  there  ought  to  have  been  a  break  at  '  go  ;'  that,  having 
thus  in  her  unceremonious  manner  dismissed  the  Lady,  she  then  turned  herself  to 
Capulet  himself.  Dyce  is  quite  right  in  saying  that  the  context  sufficiently  disproves 
the  notion  that  the  Nurse  was  speaking  to  the  Lady,  if  we  take  the  passage  without 
the  break.  Dyce  further  says  that  Golding  writes,  '  cucquean.'  Not  always — for  in 
my  copy  of  Golding,  4to,  1593,  printed  by  John  Danter,  Sign.  1,  iv,  we  have  :  '  But 
she  considering  that  Queen  Progne  was  a  cutquean  made  by  means  of  her.'  He 
does,  however,  write  '  cucquean'  in  another  place.  On  the  whole,  I  now  agree 
with  Dyce,  and  others,  in  thinking  that  the  '  cotquean'  of  the  Nurse  does  mean  '  a 
man  that  busies  himself  in  women's  affairs,'  and  that  the  whole  of  what  the  Nurse 
says  is  addressed  to  Capulet.  The  jealous-hood,  which  might  appear  naturally 
enough  to  arise  out  of  the  use  of  such  a  word  as  that  which  the  Nurse  used,  seems  to 
have  an  origin  later  in  the  dialogue. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  That  a  cot-quean  signified  a  man  who  troubled  himself  with  female 
affairs,  what  has  since  been  called  a  molly-coddle,  as  well  as  a  hen-pecked  husband, 
is  quite  certain.     Thus,  Hall  in  his  Sixth  Satire,  b.  iv: 

*  And  make  a  drudge  of  their  uxorious  mate. 
Who  like  a  cot-quean  freezeth  at  the  rock.' 

It  is  probably  derived  from  the  Fr.,  coquine. 

White.  As  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  a  man  given  to  prying  into 
women's  matters  was  called  a  cot-quean.  See  Vanbrufh's  Confederacy  (1705), 
Act  II :  ^Money-trap.  You  won't  take  it  amiss  if  I  should  ask  you  a  few  questions  ? 
— Flippanta.  What's  this  Cot-quean  going  to  pry  into  now  ?'  And  in  the  Craven 
dialect  a  man  fond  of  cooking  for  himself  is  called  a  cot. 

Halliwell.  I  half  suspect,  however,  that  it  was  a  generic  term  of  reproach 
Compare  the  following  lines  in  the  Scourge  of  Venus,  or  the  Wanton  Lady,  1614: 

•  How  will  thy  mother  thinke  herselfe  abus'd, 
That  hast  made  her  a  quot-gtteane  shamefully.' 

It    a  mouse-hunt]  Henley.   The  marten.    [Sin^.  Huds. 


238  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  iv. 

But  I  will  watch  you  from  such  watching  now. 

\_Exeu?it  Lady  Capulet  and  Nune. 
Cap.     A  jealous-hood,  a  jealous-hood  ! — 

Enter  three  or  four  Servingmen,  with  spits,  and  logs,  and  baskets. 

Now,  fellow, 
What's  there  ? 

12.  [Exeunt...]  Exit  Ladyand  Nurse.  13.    jeaipiis-hood'\  llyY)\\^ri,Y^. 
Q<lFf.     Exit  Lady  Capulet.  Sing.  Servingmen]   oni.  QqFf,  Rowe, 

13,14.    A...the7-e  f^  Ca.^<i\\.   Oneline         &c. 
in   Qq.      Two,    the   second    beginning  14.      IVhat's]  what  is  Qq.    whatY^. 

Now,  in  Ff,  Rowe,  &c. 

Holt  \Vhite.  '  Cat  after  kinde,  good  mouse-hunt,'  is  a  proverb  in  Ileywood's 
dialogue,  1598,  1st  pt.,  c.  2.     \_Sing.  Ihids.  Sta. 

Steev.  The  intrigues  of  this  animal,  like  those  of  the  cat  kind,  are  usually  car- 
ried on  during  the  night.  \_Sir.g.  HudsJ]  This  circumstance  will  account  for  the 
appellation  which  Lady  Capulet  allows  her  husband  to  have  formerly  deserved. 
\^Cham. 

Nares.  a  hunter  of  mice ;  but  evidently  said  by  Lady  Capulet  with  allusion  to  a 
different  object  of  pursuit,  such  as  is  called  mouse  only  in  playful  endearment.  The 
commentators  say  that  in  some  counties  a  weasel  is  called  a  mouse-hunt.  It  may  be 
so ;  but  it  is  little  to  the  purpose  in  this  passage.     [Dyce. 

Coll.  It  is  a  stoat,  so  still  called  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk.  See  Holloway's  '  Gen- 
Provincial  Dictionary,'  1838.    Lady  Capulet  of  course  uses  the  term  metaphorically, 

Sta.  The  marten,  an  animal  of  the  weasel  tribe,  is  called  a  mouse-hunt ;  and 
from  Lady  Capulet's  use  of  it  the  name  appears  to  have  been  familiarly  applied  to 
any  one  of  rakish  propensities. 

Halliwell.  That  is,  a  hunter  of  women,  for  whom  mouse  was  formerly  a  term 
of  endearment.  There  does  not  appear,  as  some  think,  to  be  an  allusion  to  an 
animal  so  called. 

Dyce.  ^Mouse-hunt,  the  stoat ;  the  smallest  animal  of  the  weasel  tribe,  and  pur- 
suing the  smallest  prey.  It  is  in  this  same  sense  that  Cassio  in  Othello  calls  Bianca 
a  '  fitchew,' — that  is,  a  polecat.  All  animals  of  that  genus  are  said  to  have  the  same 
propensity,  on  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  more  particular.' — Forby's  Vocab.  of 
East  Anglia.  *  Mouse-Hunt.  A  sort  of  weasel  or  pole-cat.  It  is  found  in  corn-stacks 
and  stack-yards,  and  is  less  angrily  looked  on  than  others  of  that  tribe,  as  the  far- 
mers think  its  chief  food  and  game  are  mice  (or  meece,  as  we  call  them),  and  not 
poultry.  It  is  a  small  species,  brown  on  the  back,  the  belly  white,'  &c. — Moor's 
Suffolk  Words,  &c.  (Milton,  too,  uses  the  word  metaphorically:  'Although  I  know 
many  of  those  that  pretend  to  be  great  Rabbles  in  these  studies,  have  scarce  saluted 
them  from  the  strings  and  the  title-page ;  or,  to  give  'em  more,  have  bin  but  the 
Ferrets  and  Mous-hunts  of  an  Index,'  &c. —  Of  Reformation  in  England,  &c.  B.  i, 
Prose  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  261,  ed,  Amst.,  1698,  folio). 

13.  A  jealous-hood]  Del.  Jocosely  formed,  like  womanhood  and  the  like.per- 
haj)S  also  in  the  double  sense  of  a  jealous  woman^s  hood.  In  the  old  eds.  it  is  two 
teparate  words. 

Ulr    It  is  a  question  whether  Sh.  meant  this  as  \  compound  word.     In  all  the 


Acr  IV,  sc.  V.J 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


239 


First  Serv.     Things  for  the  cook,  sir,  but  I  know  not  what.    1 5 

Cap.     Make  haste,  make   haste.     \Exit  First  Serv7\ — Sirrah, 
fetch  drier  logs : 
Call  Peter,  he  will  show  thee  where  they  are. 

Sec.  Serv.     I  have  a  head,  sir,  that  will  find  out  logs, 
And  never  trouble  Peter  for  the  matter.  \Exit. 

Cap.     Mass,  and  well  said  ;  a  merry  whoreson,  ha !  20 

Thou  shalt  be  logger-head. — Good  faith,  'tis  day : 
The  county  will  be  here  with  music  straight,  \Music  within 

For  so  he  said  he  would.     I  hear  him  near. — 
Nurse ! — Wife  ! — What,  ho  ! — What,  nurse,  I  say ! 

Re- enter  Nurse. 

Go  waken  Juliet,  go  and  trim  her  up ;  25 

I'll  go  and  chat  with  Paris : — hie,  make  haste. 

Make  haste :  the  bridegroom  he  is  come  already : 

Make  haste,  I  say.  \Exetmt 


Scene  V.     Juliet's  chamber;  Juliet  on  a  bed. 

Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse.     Mistress !  what,  mistress !  Juliet !  fast,  I  warrant  her, 
she : 
Why,  lamb  !  why,  lady !  fie,  you  slug-a-bed  ! 
Why,  love,  I  say !  madam  !  sweet-heart !  why,  bride  ! 
What,  not  a  word  ?  you  take  your  pennyworths  now ; 
Sleep  for  a  week ;  for  the  next  night,  I  warrant,  3 


19.  [Exit.]  Capell.  Exit  Sec.  Serv. 
Cambr.  after  loggerhead,  line  21. 

faith'l  father  Q^QjF^,  Knt.  Coll. 
(ed.  I),  Ulr.  Del.  Huds.  White. 

22.  [Music  within.]  Capell.  Play 
Musicke.  (after  line  21)  QqFf.  After 
line  23  Han.  Dyce.  After  would. 
line  23,  Cambr. 

24.  Re-enter  Nurse.]  Dyce,  Cambr. 
Enter  Nurse.  QqFf. 

27.     om.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

27,  28.     Make...say.'\  One  line,  Qq. 


Scene  v.]  Pope.    Scene  vi.  Capell. 

Juliet's....]  Theob.  Scene  draws  and 
discovers  Juliet  on  a  Bed.  Rowe.  Anti- 
room  of  Juliet's  Chamber.  Door  of  the 
Chamber  open,  and  Juliet  upon  her 
Bed.  Capell.    Juliet's  Chamber.  Cambr. 

Enter....]  Han.  Re-enter....  Theob, 
om.  QqFf. 

I.  shel  om.  F^FjF^,  Rowe,  &c.  Ca- 
pell. 

4.    pennyworths']  penniworth  Q^. 


old  eds.  the  hyphen  is  wanting, — therefore  equivalent  to  'A  jealous  hood  (cap),'— 
perhaps  at  that  time  a  not  uncommon  nicl<name  for  a  jealous  old  woman. 


240  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv.  sc.  ▼. 

The  County  Paris  hath  set  up  his  rest 

That  you  shall  rest  but  little. — God  forgive  me, 

7.     shall'\  should  Kovit.  7.     little. —  God. .. me,']  little :... me,  (^ 

lUtle,...me.  <^flfl^.    little, ... me :  Ff. 

6.  set  up  his  rest]  Steev.  This  expression,  frequently  employed  by  the  old 
dramatic  writers,  is  taken  from  the  manner  of  firing  the  harquebuss,  which  was  so 
heavy  that  a  supporter,  called  a  rest,  was  fixed  in  the  ground  before  the  piece  was 

levelled  to  take  aim.     Decker,  in  Old  Fortunatas,  1600:  ' set  your  heart  at 

rest,  for  I  have  set  up  my  rest,  that  unless  you  can  run  swifter  than  a  hart,'  &c.     Also 

in  B.  and  Fl.'s  Elder  Brother:  ' My  rest  is  up.  Nor  will  I  go  less.'     Again  in 

the  Roaring  Girl,  161 1 :  •  Like  a  musket  on  a  rest.^  See  Montfaucon's  Monarchic 
Franipoise,  tom.  v,  pi.  48.     \^Hal. 

Reed.  It  is,  however,  oftener  employed  with  reference  to  the  game  at  primero, 
in  which  it  was  one  of  the  terms  then  in  use.  In  the  second  instance  above  quoted 
it  is  certainly  so.  See  Dodsley's  Collection  of  Old  Plays,  vol.  x,  p.  364,  edit  1780, 
where  several  instances  are  brought  together.     \^Hal. 

M.  Mason.  It  means  that  the  gamester  has  determined  what  stake  he  would  play 
for.  In  the  passage  from  Fletcher's  Elder  Brother,  where  Eustace  says,  *My  rest  is 
up,  and  I  will  go  no  less,'  he  means  to  say,  my  stake  is  laid,  and  I  will  not  play  for 
a  smaller.  The  same  phrase  very  frequently  occurs  in  the  plays  of  B.  and  Fl.  It 
is  also  used  by  Lord  Clarendon  in  his  History,  as  well  as  in  the  old  comedy  of  Sup- 
poses, 1587.     [Hal. 

BossWELL.  Nash  quibbles  upon  this  word  in  his  Terrors  of  the  Night :  '  You  that 
are  married  and  have  wives  of  your  owne,  and  yet  hold  too  nere  frendship  with  your 
neighbours,  set  up  your  rests,  that  the  Night  will  be  an  il  neighbour  to  your  rest,  and 
that  you  shall  have  as  little  peace  of  mind  as  the  rest.'     [Sing.  Hal. 

Nares.  a  metaphor  from  the  game  of  primero,  meaning,  to  stand  upon  the  cards 
you  have  in  your  hand  in  hopes  that  they  may  prove  better  than  your  adversary. 
Hence  to  make  up  your  mind,  to  be  determined.  It  is  fully  explained  in  an  epigram 
of  Sir  J.  Harington's,  where  Marcus,  a  foolish  gamester,  is  described  as  standing  at 
first  upon  small  games  and  consequently  losing ;  but  still  losing,  by  the  fraud  of  his 
antagonists,  even  when  he  grew  more  wary.  Hence  we  may  see  how  erroneous  was 
one  of  Steevens'  explanations  of  this  phrase.  I  say  one,  for  he  l\as  given  the  right 
in  other  places.  A  rest  was,  in  fact,  an  appendage  to  every  matchlock  gun,  not 
particularly  the  harquebuss,  because  the  soldier  could  not  manage  his  match  without 
it.  There  was,  therefore,  such  a  rest,  but  that  was  not  the  allusion.  [Sta.  sub- 
stantially. 

Sing.  (ed.  l)  [Note  on  All's  Well,  II,  i,  138].  This  word  furnished  many  other 
proverbial  expressions  among  the  Italians,  one  of  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  Ciriffo 
Calvanco  of  Luca  Pulci :  'Fa  del  suo  resto,'  to  adventure  all.  'Haver  fatto  del  resto,' 
to  have  lost  all  or  have  nothing  to  rest  upon.  'Riserbar  il  Resto^  to  reserve  one's 
rest,  to  be  wary  and  circumspect,  &c.,  &c.  All  authorities  are  decisive  upon  the 
derivation  of  this  word  from  Primero,  as  Nares  has  amply  shown.  ...  In  Spanish 
too,  'Echar  el  resto^  to  set  or  lay  up  one'' s  rest,  has  the  same  origin  and  figurative 
meaning — to  adventure  all,  to  be  determined.  We  shall  now,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  hear 
no  more  of  musket  rests,  &c.,  in  explanation  of  this  phrase. 

Coll.  (ed.  i).    A  figurative  expression  apparently  derived  from  the  mode  of  firing 


ACT  IV,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  241 

Marry,  and  amen,  how  sound  is  she  asleep ! 

I  needs  must  wake  her. — Madam,  madam,  madam ! 

9.     needs    musf'\    Q,.      musf    needs         Dyce,  Klly. 
The  rest,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Sing.  (ed.  2),  [goes  towards  the  Bed.  CapeU. 

the  heavy  harquebuss  by  placing  the  barrel  upon  a  rest  or  support.  The  phrase  was 
applied  in  a  variety  of  ways,  generally  indicating  determination ;  as  at  the  game  of 
Primero,  a  person  who  had  staked  all  the  money  he  meant  to  risk  at  once  was  said 
to  have  '  set  up  his  rest.'     It  was  in  constant  use. 

HtJDS.  The  same  as  to  make  up  one's  mind.  Launcelot  (Mer.  of  Ven.  II,  ii,  1 10) 
has  a  similar  quibble.     See  also  Com.  of  Errors,  IV,  iii,  27. 

Coll.  (ed.  2)  [Note  on  All's  Well,  II,  i,  138].  This  expression  is  not  derived 
from  Primero  or  any  other  game  of  cards,  but  originally  from  musketry.  .  .  .  Dyce, 
in  his  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  always  refers  it  to  some  game  and  not  to  its  true 
original.     We  say  this  in  spite  of  Gifford. — Ben  Jonson,  vol.  i,  p.  107. 

Dyce  (ed,  2).  This  phrase,  meaning  that  the  speaker  is  perfectly  determined  on 
a  thing,  is  '  a  metaphor  taken  from  play,  where  the  highest  stake  the  parties  were 
disposed  to  venture  was  called  the  rest.  To  appropriate  this  term  to  any  particular 
game,  as  is  sometimes  done,  is  extremely  incorrect.' — Gifford's  note  on  Alassinger's 
Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  21,  ed.  1813. 

Ktly.  ('iV.  and  Qu.'  2d  Ser.  vol.  xii,  p.  65,  1861).  I  have  more  than  once  re- 
marked the  slender  acquaintance  with  the  language  and  literature  of  Spain  shown 
by  our  Shakespearian  critics,  and  the  present  is  an  instance,  and  a  strong  one,  of  the 
truth  of  my  observation.  Set  up  rest,  they  all  tell  us,  belonged  to  the  game  of  Pri- 
mero, which  was  derived  from  Spain.  Now  the  dictionary  of  the  Spanish  Academy 
defines  Resto  in  these  words  (the  reader  must  excuse  my  quoting  Spanish) :  '  En  los 
juegos  de  envite  es  aquella  cantitad  que  separa  el  jugador  del  demas  dinero  para 
jugar  y  envidar;'  and  Echar  el  resto  (set  up  the  rest),  'En  el  juego  donde  hai 
envites  envidar  con  todo  el  caudal  que  uno  tiene  delante  y  de  que  hace  su  resto.' 
Envidar  and  envite,  I  may  here  observe,  come  from  the  Latin  verb  invito,  and 
signify  challenge,  wager,  bet — a  sense  in  which  the  Italians  also  use  their  verb  invi- 
tare,  and  which  is  also  to  be  found  in  the  French  A  Venvi  and  our  own  vie.  Rest, 
then,  is  a  Spanish  term  which  was  adopted  along  with  the  Spanish  name  of  the  game 
Primero  (properly  Primera),  or  Quinola,  a  term  also  in  use;  just  as  when  the  Span- 
ish game  of  Ombre  came  into  England  it  brought  in  its  train  Basto,  Spadilla,  Ma 
nilla  [Malilla],  Matador,  Another  term  which  came  with  Primero  Vfzs  Jlusk,  the 
Spanish  Jlux,  the  sibilant,  as  usual,  taking  the  place  of  the  guttural.  It  is  plain 
that  the  rest  was  different  from  the  stake,  and  was  what  we  term  a  bet.  It  may  be 
finally  observed  that  set  up  was  equivalent  to  lay  dovm,  and  arose  firom  the  piling  up 
of  the  money  ventured,  and  that  we  still  use  set  and  lay  with  an  ellipse  in  each  case 
of  the  preposition.  Set  up  rest  soon  came  to  be  used  in  a  general  sense,  as  meaning 
make  up  one's  mind,  resolve  on — a  sense  in  which  it  occurs  more  than  once  in  Sh. 
The  same  seems  to  have  been  the  case  in  Spanish. 

Ktly.  {'N.  and  Qu.'  2d  Ser.  vol.  xii,  p.  451,  1861).  It  has  struck  me  as  teing 
rather  strange  that  our  forefathers,  when  they  got  the  game  of  Primero  from  Spain, 
did  not  render  echar  el  resto  literally,  '  Put  or  lay  down  the  rest.'  I  believe  th» 
reason  was  that  they  had  the  phrase  set  up  rest  already,  but  in  its  military  sense,  ana 
so  they  frugally  made  it  do  double  duty.  Steevens  was  not  altogether  wrong  in  hi? 
derivation  of  this  phrase. 

21  Q 


242  ROMEO  A  AD   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  v. 

Ay,  let  the  county  take  you  in  your  bed;  10 

He'll  fright  you  up,  i'  faith.     Will  it  not  be  ? 

What,  dress'd  !  and  in  your  clothes  !  and  down  again ! 

I  must  needs  wake  you  !     Lady  !  lady  !  ladyJ 

Alas,  alas!     Help,  help!  my  lady's  dead! 

O,  well-a-day,  that  ever  I  was  born  !  1 5 

Some  aqua-vitffi,  ho  !     My  lord  !  my  lady ! 

Etiter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.     What  noise  is  here  ? 

Nurse.  O  lamentable  day! 

La.  Cap.     What  is  the  matter  ? 

Nurse.  Look,  look  !  O  heavy  day ! 

La.  Cap.     O  me,  O  me !     My  child,  my  only  life, 

R  evive,  look  up,  or  I  will  die  with  thee.  20 

Help,  help !  call  help. 

Enter  Capulet. 

Cap.     For  shame,  bring  Juliet  forth  ;  her  lord  is  come. 

Nurse.     She's  dead,  deceased,  she's  dead  ;  alack  the  day ! 

La.  Cap.     Alack  the  day,  she's  dead,  she's  dead,  she's  dead ! 

Cap.     Ha  !  let  me  see  her.     Out,  alas  !  she's  cold ;  25 

Her  blood  is  settled  and  her  joints  are  stiff; 
Life  and  these  lips  have  long  been  separated. 
Death  lies  on  her  like  an  untimely  frost 
Upon  the  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field. 

Nurse.     O  lamentable  day ! 

La.  Cap.  O  woeful  time  !  30 

Cap.     Death,  that  hath  ta'en  her  hence  to  make  me  wail, 
Ties  up  my  tongue  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 

II.    fright]  ferret  Long  MS.*  i8.  Look,  look]  Look  Pope,  &c 

[Undraws  the  curtains.]  Capell,  24.  cm.  Pope,  &c. 

Cambr.  29.  all]  om.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

13.     wake]  awake  Rowe.  field.]   field.      Accursed   timet 

[shaking  her.  Capell.  unfortunate  old  man  I  Pope,  &c.  from 

15.     well-a-day]  wereaday  Qy     wele-  (Q,)-  Also  Var, 
aday  Q  .     weary  day  Anon,  conj.* 

25.  let  me  see  her]  White.  The  variations  between  the  earlier  and  later  texts 
are  very  great  in  this  scene.  The  commonplace  thoughts  and  the  feeble,  formal 
rhythm  of  the  former,  in  most  of  the  passages  peculiar  to  it,  warrant  the  belief  tha» 
they  were  supplied  by  another  hand  than  Sh.'s. 

32.  will  not  let  me  speak]    Mal.   Sb.  has  here  followed  the  poem  dosely, 


ACT  IV,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  243 

Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris,  with  Musicians. 

Fri.  L.     Come,  is  the  bride  ready  to  go  to  church  ? 

Cap.     Ready  to  go,  but  never  to  return. 
O  son,  the  night  before  thy  wedding-day  35 

Hath  death  lain  with  thy  wife :  see,  there  she  Hes, 
Flower  as  she  was,  deflowered  by  him. 
Death  is  my  son-in-law,  death  is  my  heir; 
My  daughter  he  hath  wedded :  I  will  die. 
And  leave  him  all ;  life,  living,  all  is  Death's.  40 

33.     Fri.  L.]  Par.  (QJ  Sta.  Jlowred  QqF,.     dejlowred  now  F,.    de- 

35.  thy'\  the  Rowe  (ed.  2)*.  Pope,  Jlower'd  now  F  F  ,  Rowe,  5:c.  Capell. 
Han.  deflowered  now  Johns.  Steev.  (1773). 

36.  wife'\  bride  (QJ  Steev.  (1778),  38-40.  death  is  my  heir... Death' s\ 
Var.  Sta.  om.  Pope,  &c. 

see'\  om.  QqF,,  Knt.  Com.  Coll.  40.     all ;  life,  living,']  Coll.     all  life 

Ulr.   Del.   Sing.    (ed.  2),   Huds.   Dyce  living,  Q^Q^Ff.     all,  life,  living,  Q^Q^, 

(ed.  i),  White,  Clarke,  Hal.  Ktly.  Rowe.     all;   life  leaving,  Capell,  Var. 

tkere]  There  Ktly.  Knt. 

37.  deflowered]  Steev.  (1793).     de- 

without  recollecting  that  he  had  made  Capulet,  in  this  scene,  clamorous  in  his  grief. 

In  Romeiis  and  Juliet,  Juliet's  mother  makes  a  long  speech,  but  the  old  man  utters 

not  a  word : 

'  But  more  than  all  the  rest  the  father's  hart  was  so 
Smit  with  the  heavy  newes,  and  so  shut  up  with  sodain  woe, 
That  he  ne  had  the  powre  his  daughter  to  bewepe, 
Ne  yet  to  speakt,  but  long  is  fors'd  his  teares  and  plaint  to  keepe.'    [Sing. 

33.  Fri.  L.]  Sta.  Every  edition  but  (Q,)  assigns  this  speech  to  the  Friar;  but 
at  the  present  juncture  he  is  too  critically  placed  to  be  anxious  to  lead  the  conver- 
sation. Moreover,  the  answer  of  Capulet  tends  to  show  that  Paris  had  asked  the 
question. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Would  the  deeply-enamoured  Paris  speak  of  his  Juliet  merely  as 
'  the  bride"  ? 

36.  Hath  death  lain]  Sir  W.  Rawlinson.  Euripides  has  sported  with  this 
thought  in  the  same  manner.     Iphig.  in  Aul.,  ver.  460 : 

Tjjv  8'  OM  taXaivav  TtapBivov  {ri,  napdivov; 
'AiStjs  viv,  <us  eoiKC,  wti.((>ev(Tei,  Ta,\a).         [Sing. 

Steev.  Perhaps  this  line  is  coarsely  ridiculed  in  Decker's  Satiromastix :  '  Dead : 
she's  death's  bride ;  he  hath  her  maidenhead.'     {_Sing. 

Mal.  Decker  has  the  same  thought  in  his  Wonderful  Yeare :  *  Death  rudely  la^ 
with  her,  and  spoiled  her  of  a  maidenhead  in  spite  of  her  husband.'     [_Sing. 

36.  see]  Dyce  (ed.  2).    An  addition  from  the  passage  as  given  in  (Q,). 

Cambr.  Although  'see'  was  doubtless  a  conjectural  insertion  of  the  editor  of  F^ 
in  order  to  complete  the  metre,  like  his  addition  of  '  now'  in  the  next  line,  yet,  as 
the  word  occurs  in  the  corresponding  passage  of  (Q,),  we  have  decided  on  the  whole 
to  retain  it. 

dO.  life,  living,]  Coll.  (ed.  •).   All  modem  editors  since  the  time  of  Steevens 


244  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  » 

Par.     Have  I  thought  long  to  see  this  morning's  face, 
And  doth  it  give  me  such  a  sight  as  this  ? 

La.  Cap.     Accurst,  unhappy,  wretched,  hateful  day ! 
Most  miserable  hour  that  e'er  time  saw 

In  lasting  labour  of  his  pilgrimage !  4$ 

But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child, 
But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in, 
And  cruel  death  hath  catch'd  it  from  my  sight! 

Nurse.     O  woe  !  O  woeful,  woeful,  woeful  day ! 
Most  lamentable  day,  most  woeful  day,  ^O 

That  ever,  ever,  I  did  yet  behold  ! 
O  day !  O  day !  O  day !  O  hateful  day ! 
Never  was  seen  so  black  a  day  as  this : 
O  woeful  day,  O  woeful  day ! 

Par.     Beguiled,  divorced,  wronged,  spited,  slain  1  55 

Most  detestable  death,  by  thee  beguiled, 

41.     long'\  loue  Qj.  46.     loving]  living  Johns.  (1771)*. 

44.  ^er  time]  time  e'er  Rowe  (ed.  48.     catch'd]  snatch'd  Capell  conj. 
2)*,  &c.  54.     woeful  day. f]  woeful,  woeful  day] 

46.     one  poor  and]    one   dear  and        Allen  conj.  MS, 
S.  Walker  conj. 

have  introduced  an  extraordinary  corruption  here  by  reading  '  life  leaving.'  Every 
old  cop^  gives  the  passage  as  it  stands  in  our  text,  and  there  can  be  no  possible 
reason  for  changing  '  living'  to  leaving.  Capulet  says  that  death  is  his  heir — that  he 
will  die  and  leave  death  all  he  has — viz., '  life,  living,'  and  everything  else.  Malone 
applauds  Steevens  for  his  emendation.  Barron  Field  fully  concurs  in  this  return  to 
the  authentic  text.     [  Verp.,  substantially. 

Sta.  Most  of  the  modem  editors  follow  Capell,  whose  change  is  uncalled  for; 
'  living '  here  implies  possessions,  fortunes,  not  existence.  We  meet  with  the  same 
distinction  between  life  and  living  in  the  '  Merc,  of  Ven.,'  V,  i,  286,  where  Antonio, 
whose  life  had  been  saved  by  Portia,  says :  '  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life  and 
living.' 

41.  Have  I  thought]  White.  After  this  line,  (QJ  has  a  passage  which  requires 
higher  authority  than  that  of  such  a  publication  to  cause  it  to  be  received  as  Sh.'s. 

45.  labour]  Del.  This  word,  as  applied  to  the  toilsome  progress  of  time,  Sh. 
has  again  used  in  Timon,  III,  iv.  8. 

48.  from  my  sight]  Ulr.  [Quotes  the  stage-direction  of  (Q,)  at  the  end  of  this 
speech,  and  continues]  :  If  this  passage  and  the  whole  scene  as  it  stands  in  (Q,)  dc 
not  prove  that  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  its  earliest  shape  belongs  to  the  youthful  labours 
of  Sh.,  then  all  proofs  of  the  date  of  its  origin  drawn  from  the  internal  and  circum- 
stantial evidence  of  the  piece  must  be  entirely  discarded. 

49.  O  woe !]  White.   In  this  speech  of  mock  heroic  woe,  and  perhaps  in  the 
two  that  follow,  Sh.  seems  to  have  ridiculed,  as  he  has  done  elsewhere,  the  transla 
tion  of  Seneca's  Tragedies,  published  in  1581. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  245 

By  cruel  cruel  thee  quite  overthrown ! 

O  love !  O  life !  not  life,  but  love  in  death  ! 

Cap.     Despised,  distressed,  hated,  martyr'd,  kill'd ! 
Uncomfortable  time,  why  camest  thou  now  60 

To  murder,  murder  our  solemnity  ? 
O  child  !  O  child !  my  soul,  and  not  my  child ! 
Dead  art  thou  !     Alack,  my  child  is  dead ; 
And  with  my  child  my  joys  are  buried  ! 

Fri.  L.     Peace,  ho,  for  shame !  confusion's  cure  lives  not      65 
In  these  confusions.     Heaven  and  yourself 
Had  part  in  this  fair  maid ;  now  heaven  hath  all. 
And  all  the  better  is  it  for  the  maid : 
Your  part  in  her  you  could  not  keep  from  death ; 
But  heaven  keeps  his  part  in  eternal  life.  70 

63.     Dead  art  thou  !'\  Dead  art  thou  !  65.     confiisiori!  s  cure'\'Y\^&(h.    confu- 

dead ;    Theob.   Warb.    Johns.    Capell,  sions  care  Q^.    confusions,  care  Q-Q^Q-- 

Steev.  Har.  Sing.  (ed.  i),  Camp.  Haz.  confusions:  CareYi.    confusions?  care 

Cham.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Ktly.    Dead,  dead,  Rowe. 
art  thou!  Malone  conj.  lives'^  lies  Lettsom  conj. 

65.  Peace,  &c.]  Birch  {'Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Sh.^).  The  Friar  employs 
the  language  of  religion  equivocally,  or  gives  a  meaning  to  it  in  words,  which,  from 
the  occasion,  proves  false.  When  Juliet  is  merely  sleeping  from  the  effects  of  a 
draught  given  to  her  by  himself,  he  addresses  the  consolations  of  religion  to  her 
family  as  though  she  were  dead.  He  calls  the  grief  of  her  relatives  on  this  occasion 
'  reason's  merriment,'  and  foregoes  the  character  of  a  priest  when  she  is  really  dead. 
65.  lives]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Here  too  Lettsom  would  alter  ^live^  to 'lies'  {Live 
and  lie,  as  we  have  already  seen,  were  frequently  confounded  by  transcribers  and 
printers). 

65-83.   Peace  .  .  .  merriment]  Cambr.   Instead  of  this  speech  Pope  has  tne 
following : 

*Fri.    Oh  peace  for  shame — 

Your  daughter  J.ves  in  peace  and  happiness, 

And  it  is  vain  to  wish  it  othenvise. 

Heav'n  and  your  self  had  part  in  this  fair  maid. 

Now  heav'n  hath  all — 

Come  stick  your  rosemary  on  this  fair  corpse. 

And  as  the  custom  of  our  country  is, 

In  all  her  best  and  sumptuous  ornaments 

Convey  her  where  her  ancestors  lie  tomb'd.' 

The  last  three  lines  are  verbatim  from  (Q,).     Hanmer  follows  Pope,  with  a  dinei 
rnt  arr?ngement  in  the  first  lines,  which  he  prints  thus : 

'  Oh  peace  for  shame — your  daughter  lives  in  peac: 
And  happiness,  and  it  is  vain  to  wish 
It  otherwise.     Heav'n  and  your  self  had  part 
In  this  fair  maid,  now  heaven  hath  her  all — 
Cr-me'  &c. 
11  • 


246  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act.  iv.  sc.  f 

The  most  you  sought  was  her  promotion, 

For  'twas  your  heaven  she  should  be  advanced : — 

And  weep  ye  now,  seeing  she  is  advanced — 

Above  the  clouds,  as  high  as  heaven  itself? 

O,  in  this  love,  you  love  your  child  so  ill,  7J 

That  you  run  mad,  seeing  that  she  is  well : 

She's  not  well  married  that  lives  married  long, 

But  she's  best  married  that  dies  married  young. 

Dry  up  your  tears,  and  stick  your  rosemary 

On  this  fair  corse,  and,  as  the  custom  is,  80 

In  all  her  best  array  bear  her  to  church : 

72.     sh('\  that  she  F^F  F^,  Rowe.  Theob.  conj.* 

74.     itsel/l  himsel/t  (^^.  8i.     /«  a//]  Capell,  from  (QJ.    And 

78.  But...youttg]om.]ohr\%.{\']'j\).*  ?"«  QqFf,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Ulr.    Ah 
dies   married'\   dies   unmarried  in  Rowe. 

76.  she  is  well]  Clarke.  One  of  several  allusions  in  Sh.  to  the  conventional 
mode  of  saying  of  the  dead  that  they  are  '  well.'     See  Wint.  T.,  V,  i,  30. 

79.  rosemary]  Douce.  This  plant  was  used  in  various  ways  at  funerals.  Being 
an  evergreen,  it  was  regarded  as  an  emblem  of  immortality.  In  an  obituary  kept 
by  Mr.  Smith,  preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  is  the  following:  'Jan^.  2,  1671. 
Mr.  Cornelius  Bee  bookseller  in  Little  Britain  died;  buried  Jan.  4.  at  Great  St. 
Bartholomew's  without  a  sermon,  without  wine  or  wafers,  only  gloves  and  ros- 
mary.^  And  Gay.  when  describing  Blouzelinda's  funeral,  records  that  '  Sprigg'd 
rosemary  the  lads  and  lasses  bore.' 

Nares.    It  was  carried  at  funerals,  probably,  for  its  odour,  and  as  a  token  of  re 

membrance  of  the  deceased  ;  noticed  as  late  as  the  time  of  Gay,  in  his  Pastoral  Dirge 

Dyce.   This  plant  was  formerly  supposed  to  strengthen  the  memory : 

'  He  from  his  lasse  him  lauander  hath  sent. 
Shewing  her  loue,  and  doth  requital!  craue; 
Him  rosemary  his  sweet-heart,  whose  intent 
Is  that  he  her  should  in  remembrance  haue.' — Drayton's  Ninth  Eglogut 

So.  as  the  custom  is]  Hunter.  '  The  burials  are  so  strange  both  in  Venice 
and  all  other  cities,  towns,  and  parishes  of  Italy,  that  they  differ  not  only  from  Eng- 
land but  from  all  other  nations  whatever  in  Christendom.  For  they  carry  the  corse 
to  church  with  face,  hands,  and  feet  all  naked,  and  wearing  the  same  apparel  that 
the  person  wore  lately  before  it  died,  or  that  which  it  craved  to  be  buried  in ;  which 
apparel  is  interred  together  with  their  bodies.' — Coryat,  Crudities,  vol.  ii,  p.  27. 
\_Sta. 

81.  In  all]  Ulr.  According  to  the  text  that  I  have  fwUowed,  the  emphasis  falls 
on  '  as  the  custom  is ;'  that  is  to  say,  the  Friar  recommends  them  (for  everything 
depends  on  it)  to  inter  Juliet  on  that  selfsame  day  on  an  open  bier,  &c.  He  only 
casually  adds  'and  in  her  best  array,'  which,  although,  to  be  sure,  it  was  the  custom, 
was  of  no  special  importance  either  to  him  or  in  itself.  If  the  reading,  '/«  all  her 
best  array, ^  be  adopted,  and  a  comma  be  placed  after  '  is,'  all  the  emphasis  will  be 
ihrowr  upon  this  wholly  indifferent  circumstance,  which  injures  the  sense  of  the 
ipeech 


ACT   'V,  SC.  V,] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


247 


For  though  fond  nature  bids  us  all  lament, 
Yet  nature's  tears  are  reason's  merriment. 

Cap.     All  things  that  we  ordained  festival, 
Turn  from  their  office  to  black  funeral :  85 

Our  instruments  to  melancholy  bells  ; 
Our  wedding  cheer  to  a  sad  burial  feast ; 
Our  solemn  hymns  to  sullen  dirges  change ; 
Our  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse, 
And  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary.  90 

Fri.  L.     Sir,  go  you  in ; — and,  madam,  go  with  him  ; — 
And  go,  Sir  Paris ; — every  one  prepare 
To  follow  this  fair  corse  unto  her  grave : 
The  heavens  do  lour  upon  you  for  some  ill ; 
Move  them  no  more  by  crossing  their  high  will.  93 

\_Exewit  Capidet,  Lady  Capidet,  Paris,  and  Friar. 

First  Mus.     Faith,  we  may  put  up  our  pipes,  and  be  gone. 

Nurse.     Honest  good  fellows,  ah,  put  up,  put  up ; 
For,  well  you  know,  this  is  a  pitiful  case.  \Exit  Nurse. 

First  Mus.     Ay,  by  my  troth,  the  case  may  be  amended. 


82.    fond'\  some  QqF,,  Warb.  Knt. 
us  all'\  all  us  Ff,  Rowe. 

84.  ordained'\  ordaMd  for  Anon, 
conj.* 

87.  burial'^  funerall  Q  ,  Theob. 
Warb.  Johns. 

95.  [Exeunt....]  Theob.  Exeunt 
manet.  QjQ,.  Exeunt  manent  Musici. 
Q  .  Exeunt.  Ff.  Exeunt.  Manent  Mu- 
•ici.  Q  .  They  all  but  the  Nurse  goe 
foorth,   casting  Rosemary  on  her   and 


shutting  the  Curtens.     Enter  Musitions 
(Q,),  Ulr.  (substantially). 

96.  Scene  vi.  Pope. 

up  our  pipes'\  our  pipes  up  Ktly. 

97.  98.     As  prose.  Coll.  (ed.  i),  Ulr 
Del.  WTiite,  Clarke. 

98.  pitiful']  piteous  Steev.  conj. 
Exit    Nurse.]    Theob.       om.    QqFf. 

Exit.  Dyce,  Cambr. 

99.  [Exit  omnes.  Q^.     Exeunt  om- 
nes.  Q3Q^Q3. 


82.  fond  nature]  Knt.  The  difficulty  of  some  is  not  manifest.  Some  nature — 
some  impulses  of  nature — some  part  of  our  nature.  The  idea  may  have  suggested 
the  '  some  natural  tears'  of  Milton. 

Coll.  (ed.  i).  Some  was  of  old  written  with  a  long  s,  which  might  be  easily  mis- 
♦aken  for  an/,  and  frequently  it  was  so  mistaken.     [  Verp. 

Del.  Fond  (i.  e.,  foolish)  nature  stands  in  opposition  to  reason. 

Dyce.  '  Fond,'  whether  the  author's  word  or  not,  makes  at  least  sense.  *  Some' 
taakes  downright  nonsense. 

87.  burial  feast]  SiNG.  It  was  anciently  the  custom  to  give  an  entertainment  at 
t  funeral.  The  usage  was  derived  from  the  Roman  ccena  funeralis,  and  is  not  yet 
iisused  in  the  North,  where  it  is  called  an  arvel  supper. 

99.  Enter  Peter]  Clarke.  [From  the  Qq  we  find  that]  William  Kemp  or 
Kempe  orig'nally  played  the  part  of  Peter.     We  meet  with  the  name  of  this  actoi 


248  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  ▼ 

Enter  Peter. 

Pet.     Musicians,  O,  musicians,  '  Heart's  ease,  Heart's  ease' : 
0,  an  you  will  have  me  live,  play  '  Heart's  ease'.  loi 

Enter  Peter.]   Enter  Will  Kemp.  Q,  Qq.     Three,  Ff. 

Qj.     Enter  another  Servant.  Capell.  loi.     an  you]  Pope,      and  you  Qq 

100.     Pet.]  Ser.  Capell.  Ff,  Rowe. 

100,  loi.     Prose,  Pope.     Two  lines,  /^''y]  why, p!ay  ]ohns. 

again  in  F,,  where  it  appears  among  the  prefixes  in  '  Much  Ado,'  IV,  ii,  as  the  name 
of  him  who  acted  Dogberry.  It  is  pleasant  to  have  these  vestiges  of  men  who 
played  in  Sh.'s  company. 

100.  Musicians]  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Rem.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  157).  As  the  audience 
know  that  Juliet  is  not  dead,  this  scene  is  perhaps  excusable.  But  it  is  a  strong 
warning  to  minor  dramatists  not  to  introduce  at  one  time  many  separate  characters 
agitated  by  one  and  the  same  circumstance.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  what  effect, 
whether  that  of  pity  or  of  laughter,  Sh.  meant  to  produce ; — the  occasion  and  the 
characteristic  speeches  are  so  little  in  harmony !  For  example,  what  the  Nurse  says 
is  excellently  suited  to  the  Nurse's  character,  but  grotesquely  unsuited  to  the  occa- 
"iion.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

Knt.  Rightly  understood,  tliis  scene  requires  no  apology.  It  was  the  custom  of 
our  ancient  theatre  to  introduce,  in  the  irregular  pauses  of  a  play  that  stood  in  place 
of  a  division  into  acts,  some  short  diversion,  such  as  a  song,  a  dance,  or  the  extem- 
pore buffoonery  of  a  clown.  At  this  point  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  there  is  a  natural 
pause  in  the  action,  and  at  this  point  such  an  interlude  would,  probably,  have  been 
presented,  whether  Sh.  had  written  one  or  not.  The  stage-direction  in  Q^  puts  this 
matter  beyond  a  doubt.  That  direction  says,  '  Enter  Will  Kempe,'  and  the  dialogue 
immediately  begins  between  Peter  and  the  musicians.  Will  Kempe  was  the  Liston 
of  his  day,  and  was  as  great  a  popular  favourite  as  Tarleton  had  been  before  him. 
It  was  wise,  therefore,  in  Sh.  to  find  some  business  for  Will  Kempe,  that  should  not 
be  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  the  great  business  of  his  play.  This  scene  of  the 
musicians  is  very  short,  and,  regarded  as  a  necessary  part  of  the  routine  of  the 
ancient  stage,  is  excellently  managed.  Nothing  can  be  more  naturally  exhibited 
than  the  indifference  of  hirelings,  without  attachment,  to  a  family  scene  of  grief. 
Peter  and  the  musicians  bandy  jokes ;  and,  although  the  musicians  think  Peter  a 
'  pestilent  knave,'  perhaps  for  his  inopportune  sallies,  they  are  ready  enough  to  look 
after  their  own  gratification,  even  amidst  the  sorrow  which  they  see  around  them. 
A  wedding  or  a  burial  is  the  same  to  them.  '  Come,  we'll  in  here — tarry  for  the 
mourners,  and  stay  dinner.'  So  Sh.  read  the  course  of  the  world — and  it  is  not 
much  changed.  The  quotation  beginning,  '  When  griping  grief  the  heart  doth 
wound,'  is  from  a  short  poem  in  The  Paradise  of  Daintie  Deuises,  by  Richard 
Edwards,  master  of  the  children  of  the  chapel  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  This  was  set  as 
I  four-part  song  by  Adrian  Batten,  organist  of  St.  Paul's  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I, 
and  is  thus  printed,  but  without  any  name,  in  Hawkins's  History  of  Music,  vol.  v. 
The  question  of  Peter,  '  Why  silver  sound,  why  music  with  her  silver  sound  ?'  is 
happily  enough  explained  by  Percy :  '  This  ridicule  is  not  so  much  levelled  at  the 
»ong  itself  (which,  for  the  time  it  was  written,  is  not  inelegant)  as  at  those  forced  and 
innat  iral  explanations  often  given  by  us  painfu    editors  and  expositors  of  ancient 


ACT  IV,  sc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  249 

Fu'st  Mils.     Why  '  Heart's  ease'  ? 

Pet.  O,  musicians,  because  my  heart  itself  plays  '  My  heart  is 
full  of  woe' :  O,  play  me  some  merry  dump,  to  comfort  me. 

102.  First  Mus.]  i.  M.  Capell.  (So  104.  of  zuoe'\  om.  Q^QjFf,  Rowe, 
in    105,    107,    138).     Fidler.    Q.QjQ^.         Knt. 

Mu.  Ff.  (So  in  105,  107,  109,  112,  116,  O...com/ori  me.']  om.  Ff,  Rowc. 

127,  138). 

authors.' — Reliques,  vol.  i.  Had  Sh.  a  presentiment  of  what  he  was  to  receive  at 
the  hands  of  his  own  commentators  ? 

HUDS.  It  seems  not  unlikely  that  this  part  of  the  scene  was  written  on  purpose 
for  Kempe  to  display  his  talents  in,  as  there  could  hardly  be  any  other  reason  for 
such  a  piece  of  buffoonery. 

Clarke.  But  to  our  minds  the  intention  was  to  show  how  grief  and  gaiety,  pathos 
and  absurdity,  sorrow  and  jesting,  elbow  each  other  in  life's  crowd;  how  the  calami- 
ties of  existence  fall  heavily  upon  the  souls  of  some,  while  others,  standing  close 
beside  the  grievers,  feel  no  jot  of  suffering  or  sympathy.  Far  from  the  want  of  har- 
mony that  has  been  found  here,  we  feel  it  to  be  one  of  those  passing  discords  that 
produce  richest  and  fullest  effect  of  harmonious  contrivance.  The  Nurse's  heartless- 
ness  in  bidding  Juliet  renounce  Romeo  for  Paris,  from  her  selfish  desire  to  secure 
her  snug  place,  with  its  comforts  of  good  feeding,  store  of  aqua-vita,  a  footboy  to 
wait  upon  her  nurse-ship,  &c.  &c.,  is  in  strict  keeping  with  the  footboy's  callous  eager- 
ness to  have  his  '  merry  dump'  played  to  him  while  the  musicians  are  conveniently 
in  the  house,  though  in  the  very  hour  of  his  young  lady's  sudden  death ;  and  the 
musicians'  loitering  to  bandy  jokes  with  the  footboy,  secure  their  pay,  and  get  a 
good  dinner,  all  combine  to  form  the  most  perfect  harmony  in  dramatic  composition. 

[This  scene  between  Peter  and  the  Musicians  is  transposed,  in  Edwin  Booth's 
Acting  copy,  to  I,  v,  13.]  Ed. 

100.  •  Heart's  ease']  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  name  of  a  popular  tune  of  the  time. 
It  is  mentioned  in  '  Misogonus,'  a  MS.  play  by  Thomas  Rychardes,  written  before 
1570  (see  Hist.  Eng.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  ii,  p.  470),  where  a  song  is 
sung  to  the  tune.     [  Verp.  Cham. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  See  Chappell's  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,  &c.,  vol.  i, 
p.  209  (ed.  2). 

103.  '  My  heart  is  full  of  woe :']  Steev.  This  is  the  burthen  of  the  first  stanza 
of  A  Pleasant  new  Ballad  of  Two  Lovers :  '  Hey  hoe !  my  heart  is  full  of  woe.' 
\Sing.  Huds.  Dyce. 

Sta.   It  is  in  the  Pepys  collection,  and  begins  thus : 

'  Complaine,  my  lute,  complaine  on  him,  That  stayes  so  long  away ; 
He  promis'd  to  be  here  ere  this.  But  still  unkind  doth  stay ; 
But  now  the  proverbe  true  I  finde,  Once  out  of  sight,  then  out  of  mind. 
Hey  ho  I  my  heart  is  full  of  tvoe.'    {Cham. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  ballad  just  cited  is  of  considerable  merit,  and  the  whole  of  it 
may  be  found  in  The  Sh.  Soc.  Papers,  vol.  i,  p.  12. 

104.  dump]  Steev.  A  dump  anciently  signified  some  kind  of  dance  as  well  as 
sorrow.  So  in  Humour  Out  0'  Breath,  by  John  Day,  1607  :  '  He  ioves  nothing  but 
ir  Italian  dump,   1r  a  French  brawl?     But  here  i*  means  a  mournful  song.     In  The 


250  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  iv.  sc.  v. 

First  Mus.     Not  a  dump  we ;  'tis  no  time  to  play  now.         105 

Pet.     You  will  not  then  ? 

First  Mus.     No. 

Pet.     I  will  then  give  it  you  soundly. 

First  Mus.     What  will  you  give  us  ? 

105.     First  Mus.]  Dyce,  Canibr.  from  107.     First  Mus.]  Dyce.Cambr.  from 

Capell.      Minstrels.    Q^QjQ^.      2    Mus.         Capell.     Minst.  Q^.     Min.  QjQ^Qj.     a 
Steev.  (1793),  et  cet.  Mus.  Haz.  Huds.      Musicians.  Clarke. 

Mus.  Steev.  (1793),  et  cet. 

Arraignment  of  Paris,  1584,  after  the  shepherds  have  sung  an  elegiac  hymn  over 
the  hearse  of  Colin,  Venus  says  to  Paris : 

' How  cheers  my  lovely  boy  after  this  dump  of  woe? 

Paris.     Such  dumps,  sweet  lady,  as  bin  these,  are  deadly  dumps  to  prove.'    [Sta.  Hal. 

RiTSON.  DutHps  were  heavy  mournful  tunes;  possibly,  indeed,  any  sort  of  move- 
ments were  once  so  called.  Hence  doleful  dumps,  deep  sorrow,  or  grievous  afflic- 
tion as  in  the  less  ancient  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase.  It  is  still  said  of  a  person  uncom- 
monly sad,  that  he  is  in  the  dumps.  In  a  MS.  of  Hen.  VIII's  time  is  a  tune  for 
the  cittern  or  guitar,  entitled,  '  My  lady  Careys  dompe ;^  there  is  also  'The  duke 
of  Sommersettes  dompe  ;^  as  we  now  say,  '  Lady  Coventry's  minuet,^  &c.  '  If  thou 
wert  not  some  blockish  and  senseless  dolt,  thou  wouldest  never  laugh  when  I  sung  a 
heavy  mixt-Lydian  tune,  or  a  note  to  a  dumpe  or  dolefuU  dittie.' — Plutarch^ s  Morals, 
by  Holland,  1602,  p.  61.     [//a/. 

Reed.  At  the  end  of  The  Secretaries  Studie,  by  Thomas  Gainsford,  Esq.,  1616, 
is  a  long  poem  of  forty-seven  stanzas,  and  called  A  Dumpe  or  Passion.     \^Hal. 

Nares.  Formerly  the  received  term  for  a  melancholy  strain  in  music.  A  merry 
dump  in  this  passage  is  evidently  a  purposed  absurdity  suited  to  the  character  of  the 
speaker.  Stafford  Smith  gave  to  Steevens  the  music  (without  words)  of  a  dump 
which  he  had  discovered  in  an  old  MS.  A  dump  appears  also  to  have  been  a  kind 
of  dance.  Dumps,  for  sorrow,  was  not  always  a  burlesque  expression.  It  was  even 
used  in  the  sense  of  elegy.  Davies,  of  Hereford,  has  a  singular  poem  in  that  stj'le, 
entitled  'A  Dump  upon  the  Death  of  the  most  noble  Henrie  Earle  of  Pembrooke.' 
\_Sitig.  Knt.  (ed.  2)  (substantially),  Dyce. 

Sing.  That  it  was  a  sad  or  dismal  strain,  perhaps  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  con- 
trast and  effect  mixed  up  with  livelier  airs,  appears  from  Cavendish's  Metrica 

Visions,  p.  17  : 

'  What  is  now  left  to  helpe  me  in  this  case? 
Nothing  at  all  but  dompe  in  the  dance. 
Among  deade  men  to  tryppe  on  the  trace." 

Coll.  (ed.  i).    See  Chappell's  'National  English  Airs,'  vol.  n,  p.  137.     [  Verp. 

Sta.    Master  Peter's  '  merry  dump'  was  a  purposed  contradiction  in  terms. 

Dyce.  Chappell  remarks :  '  A  dump  was  a  slow  dance.  Queen  Afary^s  Dump  is 
one  of  the  tunes  in  William  Ballet's  Lute  Book,  and  My  Lady  Carey's  Dompe  is 
printed  in  Stafford  Smith's  Musica  Antiqua,  ii,  470,  from  a  MS.  in  the  British 
Museum,  temp.  Henry  VIII.' — Popular  Music,  &c.,  vol.  i,  p.  210,  (ed.  2). 

White.  '  Dump'  conveyed  no  lud'crous  impression  in  Sh.'s  day,  though  here  it 
»erves  a  comic  purpose. 


ACT  IV.  oc.  v.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  25 1 

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

First  Mus.     Then  will  I  give  you  the  serving-creature. 
Pet.     Then  will  I  lay  the  serving-creature's  dagger  on  your 


110,111.     Prose  first  by  Theob.    Two 

istrel  F^. 

lines,  QqFf. 

1 1 2.     will  I]  I  will  Rowe 

III.     minstrel]  viinistrell  F,Fj.    min- 

113.     lay-\say  Q^. 

1 10.  gleek]  Steev.  To  gleek  is  to  scoff,  taken  from  an  ancient  game  at  cards 
czXi^A  gleek.  So  in  Turberville's  translation  of  Ovid's  Epistle  from  Dido  to  ^neas: 
'  By  manly  mart  to  purchase  prayse,  And  give  his  foes  the  gleeke.''  Again,  in  the 
argument  to  the  same  translator's  version  of  Hermione  to  Orestes :  '  Orestes  gave 
Achylles'  sonne  the  gleeke.'     \_Hal. 

RiTSON.  The  use  of  this  cant  term  is  nowhere  explained,  and,  in  all  probability, 
tannot,  at  this  distance  of  time,  be  recovered.  To  gleek,  however,  signified  to  put 
a  joke  or  trick  upon  a  person,  perhaps  to  jest  according  to  the  coarse  humour  of  that 
age.     \_Hal. 

Douce.  In  some  of  the  notes  on  this  word  it  has  been  supposed  to  be  connected 
with  the  card  game  of  gleek ;  but  it  was  not  recollected  that  the  Saxon  language 
supplied  the  term  dig,  ludibrium,  and  doubtless  a  corresponding  verb.  Thus  glee 
signifies  mirth,  jocularity  ;  and  gleeman,  or  gligman,  a  minstrel  or  joculator.  Gleek 
was,  therefore,  used  to  express  a  stronger  sort  of  joke,  a  scoffing.  It  does  not  appear 
that  the  phrase  to  give  the  gleek  was  ever  introduced  in  the  above  game,  which  was 
borrowed  by  us  from  the  French,  and  derived  from  an  original  of  very  different 
import  from  the  word  in  question.  .  .  ,  To  give  the  minstrel  is  no  more  than  a  pun- 
ning phrase  (or  giving  the  gleek.  Minstrels  and  jesters  were  anciently  called  gleek- 
men  ox  gligmen.     \^Dyce,  Sing.  Huds.  Hal. 

Nares.  To  give  the  gleek  meant  to  pass  a  jest  upon,  to  make  a  person  ridiculous. 
To  give  the  minstrel,  which  follows,  has  no  such  meaning.  Peter  only  means,  '  I 
will  call  you  minstrel  and  so  treat  you,'  to  which  the  musician  replies, '  Then  I  will 
give  you  the  serving  creature^  as  a  personal  retort  in  kind.     \^Sing.  Dyce. 

Sta.  To  give  the  gleek,  a  phrase  borrowed  from  the  old  game  of  cards  called 
gleek,  signified  to  Jlout  or  scorn  any  one,  and,  as  a  gleekman  or  gligman  was  a  name 
for  a  minstrel,  we  get  a  notion  of  the  quibble  meant.  A  similar  equivoque  is,  no 
'oubt,  intended  in  '  the  serving  creature,'  but  the  allusion  is  yet  to  be  discovered. 

White.  The  allusion  to  the  glee-man  or  gligmon  is  obvious.  Not  so,  however, 
the  double  meaning  in  the  musician's  reply,  unless  Peter  means  that  he  will  apply 
the  term  '  minstrel'  reproachfully,  and  the  musician  that  he  will  retort  by  calling 
Peter  the  servant  to  the  minstrel. 

111.  the  minstrel]  Steev.  From  the  following  entry  on  the  books  of  the  Sta- 
rioner's  Company,  in  the  year  1 560,  it  appears  that  the  hire  of  a  parson  was  cheaper 
than  that  of  a  minstrel  or  a  cook.     [See  note  on  IV,  ii,  2.  Ed.]     \^Hal. 

113.  dagger]  Clarke.  Even  in  so  slight  a  touch  as  this  Sh.  gives  token  of  his 
sleepless  attention  to  consistency  and  the  production  of  dramatic  verity  in  effect. 
Peter  is  thus  shown  to  wear  a  knife  or  dagger  about  him,  which  he  dra^^s  upon  the 
slightest  occasion  of  threat,  whether  made  in  joke  or  in  earnest ;  and  thiS  serves  to 
make  more  natural  the  point  of  Juliet's  wearing  a  dagger. 


252 


ROMEU   AND   JULIET. 


[ACT  IV.  SC.  V. 


pate.  I  will  carry  no  crotchets :  I'll  re  you,  Y\\  fa  you;  do  you 
note  me  ?  115 

First  Mus.     An  you  re  us  and  fa  us,  you  note  us. 

Sec.  Mus.  Pray  you,  put  up  your  dagger,  and  put  out  your 
wil. 

Pet.     Then  have  at  j-ou  with  my  wit!    I  will  dry-beat  you 

with  an  iron  wit,  and  put  up  my  iron  dagger.     Answer  me  like 

men:  121 

'  When  griping  grief  the  heart  doth  wound 


1 14,  115.  /  will...noU  me  ?'\  Prose 
in  Q^Ff.  Two  lines,  the  first  ending  fa, 
in  Q_^^.  Two  lines,  the  first  ending  fa 
you,  in  Q^. 

[Drawing  his  dagger]  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

116.  An\  Pope.    And  Ff,  Rowe. 

117,  118.     One  line,  Qq.    Two,  Ff. 
119.      Then...vnt  !'\  Given  to  Peter  in 

Q^Qj.    Continued  to  Sec.  Mus,  in  Q^Qj 
Ff,  Rowe. 


119,  120.     /...dagger]  One  line,  Qq. 
Two,  Ff. 

120,  121.     Answer.. ..men]  One  line, 
QqFf. 

120.  an  iron  wW]  my  iron  wit  Coll. 
(ed.  2)  (MS),  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

121.  [Sheathing  his  dagger.]   Coll. 
(ed.  2). 

122-124.     Verse,  (QJ.    Prose,  QqFf. 

122.  grief]  Han.    griefes  QqF^F,. 
griefs  F  F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  Knt. 


114.  crotchets]  Ulr.  A  crotchet  (so  called  because  its  shape  is  like  that  of  a 
crook)  is  a  quarter-note,  and  also  a  whim,  Peter,  therefore,  intends  to  say,  '  I  will 
not  endure  your  whims,  your  refusal  to  play,'  but  says,  in  effect,  '  I  will  play  nc 
quarter-notes  (but  whole  ones)  on  your  pates.' 

Clarke.  An  instance  of  Sh.'s  using  a  familiarly  known  phrase,  and  varying  it 
with  one  of  his  own  introduced  words.  The  effect  is  given  of  the  then  well-known 
phrase,  '  I'll  not  carry  coals,'  meaning,  '  I'll  not  put  up  with  insults ;'  while,  by 
introducing  the  word  '  crotchets,'  the  joke  is  made  doubly  applicable  to  the  rallying 
musician,  in  the  sense  of  those  musical  symbols  of  notes  denominated  '  crotchets,' 
and  those  whimsies  of  banter  sometimes  jocosely  so  called. 

114.  re  you,  and  fa  you]  Knt.  Re  and  fa  are  the  syllables  or  names  given  in 
Bolmization,  or  sol-faing,  to  the  sounds  D  and  F  in  the  musical  scale.  [  Verj^.  Sta. 
Ulr. 

Ulr.  '  To  ray'  also  means  •  to  sift,'  {sieben)  and  '  to  fey'  is  •  to  cleanse  out'  {schldm- 
men),  both  of  which  words  are  pronounced  exactly  like  Re  and  Fa.  Herein  lie* 
the  wit  of  Peter. 

Sta,   The  pun  on  note  is  self-evident,  and  the  word  appears  to  have  been  a  favoi 
Ite  one  to  play  upon,  for  Sh.  has  used  it  with  a  double  meaning  at  least  a  score 
of  times. 

119,  Have  .  .  .  my  wit]   Del.   Beware  of  my  wit.     [Ulr. 

122.  griping  grief]  Steev,  The  epithet  griping  was  by  no  means  likely  to 
excite  laughter  at  the  time  it  was  written.  Lord  Surrey,  in  his  second  book  of  Vir- 
gil's ^neid,  makes  the  hero  say :  '  New  gripes  of  dred  then  pearse  our  trembling 
hrestes,'     [Clarke.] 

Sir  John  Hawkins, 

'/«   Commendation  of  Musicke. 
'  W)  er;  piping  grief  ye  ha  t  would  wound,  (and  dolful  domps  ye  mind  opprrwa) 


ACT  IV,  sc.  v.]  ROMEC    AND    JULIET.  253 

And  doleful  dumps  the  mind  oppress, 
Then  music  with  her  silver  sound' — 
why  'silver  sound '  ?  why  '  music  with  her  silver  sound'  ? —    125 
What  say  you,  Simon  Catling  ? 

First  Mus.     Marry,  sir,  because  silver  hath  a  sweet  sound. 
Pet.     Pretty! — What  say  you,  Hugh  Rebeck? 

123.  And....oppress,'\  (QJ  Capell.  Q^,  Capell.  Protest  ?  Ko-we.  PratestI 
om.  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Johns.       Thou    pratest :    Coll.    (MS.) 

127.  First   Mus.]      Minst.  or  Min.         Prates!  Ulr.  Del. 

Qq.  Pebeckl  Rowe.     Rebick  Q.QjQ^ 

128.  Pretty/^      Pope,    from     (Q,).  Y^^.     Rebzcke  l\FJ^^. 
Prates,  Q,.     Pratest,  QjFf.     Pratee,  Q^ 

There  musick  with  her  silver  sound,  is  wont  with  spede  to  geue  redresse  ; 

Of  troubled  minds  for  every  sore,  swete  musick  hath  a  salue  in  store,'  &c.,  &c — 

Richard  Edwards,  Paradise  of  Daintit  Deuisei. 

Of  Richard  Edwards  and  William  Hunnis  see  an  account  in  Wood's  Athenae  Oxoa 
and  also  in  Tanner's  Bibliotheca.     \_Sta.  Hal. 

Steev.  Another  copy  of  this  song  is  published  by  Dr.  Percy  in  the  first  vol.  of 
his  Reliques.     [Sing.  Huds.  Hal. 

Douce.  The  following  stanza  from  one  of  Whitney's  Emblems,  1586,  is  not  very 
dissimilar  from  that  of  Richard  Edwards's,  and  confirms  the  propriety  of  Steevens's 
observation  on  the  epithet  griping : 

'  If  griping  greifes  have  harbour  in  thie  breste 
And  pininge  cares  laie  seige  unto  the  same. 
Or  straunge  conceiptes  doe  reave  thee  of  thie  rest, 
And  daie  and  nighte  do  bringe  thee  out  of  frame,'  &c. 

Griping  griefs  and  doleful  dumps  are  very  thickly  interspersed  in  Grange's  Golden 
Aphroditis,  1577,  and  in  many  other  places.  They  were  great  favorites;  but 
griefs  were  not  always  griping.  Thus  in  Turberville's  translation  of  Ovid's  epistle 
from  Hero  to  Leander :  '  Which  if  I  heard,  of  troth  For  grunting  griefe  I  die.' 

Coll.  The  poem  is  ascribed  to  '  Mr.  Edwards,'  i.  e.,  Richard  Edwards,  author 
of  '  Damon  and  Pythias,'  1571,  and  other  early  dramatic  pieces.     [  White,  Cham. 

126.  Catling]  Steev.   A  small  lute-string  made  of  catgut.     [Sing.  Hal. 

A.  C.  In  An  Historical  Account  of  Taxes  under  all  Denominations  in  the  Time 
of  William  and  Mary,  p.  336,  is  the  following  article :  '  For  every  gross  of  catlings 
and  lutestring,'  &c.     [Hal. 

128.  Pretty!]  Del.  Peter  rejects  the  explanations  of  the  musicians  as  'babble.' 
By  no  means  does  he  give  his  assent,  as  the  reading  Pretty  adopted  by  the  editors 
from  (QJ  would  represent.  The  omission  of  Thou  before  '  pratest'  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  and  denotes  the  impertinent  bearing  with  which  Peter  retorts  upon  th« 
musicians, 

Ulr.  I  have  decided  in  favor  of  Q^,  and  take  Prates  as  the  plural  of  prate 
(gabble),  believing  that  Pretty,  even  if  ironical,  accords  but  little  with  Peter's  surly, 
gruff  style ;  and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  *  gabble,  babble,  idiots,'  or  something 
similar,  is  the  very  answer  that  every  one  would  expect  from  Peter's  mouth.  The 
plural,  which  is  very  remarkable,  and  which  may  have  suggested  to  the  compositor 
of  Qj  (which  follows  FJ  to  put  pratest,  is  readily  explained,  if  it  be  assumed  that 
22 


iS4  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  [act  iv,  sc.  v. 

Sec.  Mus.  I  say,  'silver  sound,' because  musicians  sound  for 
silver.  130 

Pet.     Pretty  too  ! — \\'hat  say  you,  James  Soundpost  ? 

Tliird  Mus.     Faith,  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Pet.  O,  I  cry  you  mercy;  you  are  the  singer:  I  will  say  for 
you.  It  is  '  music  with  her  silver  sound,'  because  musicians 
have  no  gold  for  sounding :  135 

131.     Pretty  too!']  Pope,  from  (Q,).  QqFi,  Rowe. 

Prates    to,    Q^.       Pratest    to,    Q^F^F^.  1 34.     musicians']  such  fellows  as  you 

Pratee  to,  Q^.     Pratee  too  :  Q^,  Capell.  (QJ  Pope,  &c.  Johns.  Capell.  Var.  Knt. 

Pratest  too,  F^F^.     Pratest  too?  Rowe.  (ed.   l),  Huds.  Sing.  Sta.  Cham.  Dycc 

Pratest  too  !  ]o)\x^%.      Thou  pratest  too :  (ed.  2),  Ktly. 

Coll.  (MS.)     Prates  too !  V\x.V)&\.  135.     no   gold]    QqFf,    Rowe,    &c. 

james  Soundpost]  Samuel  Sound-  Dyce    (ed.    l),   WTiite,    Knt.    (ed.    2), 

board  Pope,  &c.  Cambr.     seldom  gold  (QJ,  Capell,  Var. 

133-135.     Prose,  Pope.    Three  lines,  et  cet. 

Peter  uses  it  in  a  collective  sense,  something  like  our  * Schwdtzfrei,'  or  'dumme 
Rederei: 

MoMMSEN.  Pretie  of  (Q,)  looks  like  an  error  of  the  ear,  for  pretty  by  no  means 
suits  the  context.  Peter  does  not  intend  to  praise,  and  irony  would  be  out  of  place. 
Prat'ee  is  formed  like  Look'ee,  hark^ee,  think' ee.  Prates  is  a  misprint  in  Q  of  an 
unusual  dialectic  word,  just  like  pardons  for  perdona,  II,  iv,  30.  The  other  old 
copies,  after  F,,  form  pratest  from  prates  (because,  forsooth,  the  second  person 
singular  is  often  indicated  by  s  alone),  and  recent  learning  has  restored  prates  as 
though  it  were  a  plural  of  prate,  an  abstract  noun  !  Better  than  this  would  b* 
pretty,  which  a  majority  of  the  later  English  edd.  prefer. 

128.  Rebeck]  Stef\',  An  instrument  with  three  strings,  which  is  mentioned  by 
several  of  the  old  writers.  Rebeck,  rebecquin.  See  Menage,  in  v.  Rebec.  So  in 
B.  and  Fl.'s  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle:  "Tis  present  death  for  these  fidlers  to 
tune  their  rebecks  before  the  great  Turk's  grace.'  So  in  England's  Helicon,  1600,  is 
The  Shepherd  Arsilius,  his  Song  to  his  Rebeck,  by  Bar.  Yong.     \_Hal. 

M.vL.  It  is  mentioned  by  Milton  as  an  instrument  of  mirth :  '  WTien  the  merry 
bells  ring  round  And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound.'     \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal. 

Nares.  An  instrument  of  music,  having  catgut  strings,  and  played  with  a  bow, 
but  originally  with  only  two  strings,  then  with  three,  till  it  was  exalted  into  the  mon* 
perfect  violin,  with  four  strings.  It  is  thought  to  be  the  same  with  ribible,  being  a 
Moorish  instrument,  and  in  that  language  called  reheb.  Thence  it  passed  into  Italy, 
where  it  became  ribeca  or  ribeba,  whence  our  English  word.  See  Hawkins's  Hist, 
of  Music,  II,  p.  86. 

Sta.  It  is  frequently  noticed  by  old  writers :  •  He  turned  his  rebeck  to  a  mournful 
note.' — Drayton,  ed.  11. 

134.  musicians]  Steev.  I  should  suspect  that  a  fiddler  made  the  alteration, — 
•musicians.'     \Dyce. 

Knt.  (ed.  2).  It  is  interesting  to  mark  the  change  in  the  corrected  copy.  Sh, 
would  not  put  offensive  words  to  the  skilled  in  music,  even  into  the  mouth  of  t 
clownish  servant. 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.] 


ROMEO    AND   JULIET. 


:d5 


'  Then  music  with  her  silver  sound 
With  speedy  help  doth  lend  redress.'  \Exit. 

First  Mhs.     What  a  pestilent  knave  is  this  same  ! 
Sec.  Mus.     Hang  him,  Tack ! — Come,  we'll  in  here ;  X3sry  for 
the  mourners,  and  stay  dinner.  {Exeunt 


ACT    V. 


Scene  I.     Mantua.     A  street. 


Enter  ROMEO. 


Rom.     If  I  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand : 


136,137.  T7ten...reJress.']Tvro\\nt5, 
Johns,  om.  (QJ  Pope,  Han.  Prose 
in  QqFf.  The  nutsic...saund  Doth  lend 
redress.  Theob.  Warb. 

137.  [Exit.]  QqFf,  Dyce,  WTiite, 
Cham.  Clarke,  Cambr.  Exit,  singing. 
Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Capell,  Var.  et  cet. 

138.  First  Mus.]  Min.  Qq. 

139.  him,  Jack  !'\  Han.  him  lacke, 
or  him  Jack,  QqFf.  him. — Jack,  Johns. 
him.  Jack,  Rowe,  Pope,  him.  Jack ; 
Theob.  Warb. 


Act  v.  Scene  i.  Mantua.]  Rowc. 
A  street.]  Capell. 

I.  flattering  truth  ofl  QqFf.  /ot- 
tering eye  of  (QJ  Mai.  Var.  (Com.), 
Huds.  Sta.  Dyce  (ed.  2),  Cham.  Hal. 
Ktly.  flattery  of  Pope  (Otway's  '  Caius 
Marius,'  V,  iv,  4),  Han.  flattering  ruth 
of  Warb.  flattering  death  of  Coll.  (ed. 
2)  (MS.)  flattering  soother.  Sing.  conj. 
flattering  sooth  of  ^^^lite.  flattering 
signs  of  Bailey  conj.* 


137.  Exit]  Dyce.  Most  editors  print  'Exit,  singing;'  but  surely  Peter  quote* 
the  song  without  singing  it. 

139.  Jack]  Dyce.  A  common  term  of  contempt  and  reproach  (fellow,  knave, 
rogue).     \^Clarke. 

I.  truth]  Steev.  If  I  may  repose  any  confidence  in  the  flattering  \'isions  of  the 
night.     \_Sing.  (ed.  l),  Huds. 

Knt.  It  is  not  difficult  to  see  the  growth  of  that  philosophical  spirit  in  Sh.  which 
suggested  the  substitution  of  the  word  •  truth,'  which  opens  to  the  mind  a  deep 
volume  of  metaphysical  inquiry. 

Coll.  (ed.  i).   '  Flattering  eye'  may  be  reconciled  to  sense,  hut  with  difficulty. 

Coll.  {'Notes  and  Emend.')  Nobody  has  been  able  at  all  satisfactorily  to  explain 
'  flattering  truth,'  since  '  truth'  cannot  flatter ;  and  Malone,  not  liking  Johnson's  inter- 
pretation, preferred,  what  is  to  the  full  as  unintelligible,  the  text  of  (Q,).  The  real 
Iruth  (not  the  '  flattering  truth')  seems  to  be  that  the  old  compositor  was  confounded 
between  '  trust'  in  the  first  part  of  the  line,  and  death  near  the  end  of  it,  and  printed 
a  word  which  he  compounded  of  the  beginning  of  the  one  word  and  of  the  end  of 
^he  other.    Sleep  is  often  resembled  to  death,  and  death  tc  s'eep;  and  when  Romeo, 


256  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  L 

My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  throne, 
And  all  this  day  an  unaccustom'd  spirit 

3.     j«]  on  Qj,  Pope,  &c.  Capell.  4.     this  day  cw]  thisan  day  an  F,. 

this  winged  F,F  F^. 

according  to  the  (MS.),  calls  it  '  the  flattering  death  of  sleep,'  he  refers  to  the  joyful 
news  from  which  he  had  awaked.  During  this  '  flattering  death  of  sleep'  he  had 
dreamed  of  Juliet  and  of  her  revival  of  him  by  the  warmth  of  her  kisses. 

Sing.  ['Sh.  Vindicated^).  A  more  unhappy  and  absurd  conjecture  than  this  is 
acarcely  to  be  paralleled,  even  by  some  of  the  other  doings  of  the  (MS.).  I  read 
'  flattering  soother  sleep.'  The  similarity  of  sound,  in  recitation,  of  the  words  truth 
of  and  soother,  may  have  led  to  the  error;  and  the  poetical  beauty  of  the  passage  is 
much  heightened  by  the  personification  of  sleep. 

Dyce  (^Few  Notes).  The  meaning  is,  in  vulgar  prose, — If  I  may  trust  the  visions 
with  which  my  eye  flattered  me  during  sleep.  I  have  not  forgotten  how  our  early 
writers  characterize  Sleep, — for  instance,  I  recollect  that  Sleep  is  called  by  Sackville 
'  cousin  of  Death'  and  '  a  living  death,'  and  by  Daniel,  '  brother  to  Death ;'  but  I 
remember  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of  poetry  which  bears  any  resemblance  to 
such  a  combination  of  words  as  '  the  flattering  death  of  sleef  of  Collier's  (MS.) ; 
and,  though  I  may  lay  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  presumption,  I  unhesitatingly 
assert,  not  only  that  the  expression  never  could  have  come  from  Sh.'s  pen,  but  that 
it  is  akin  to  nonsense.     [^Hal. 

Del.  That  is,  If  I  may  trust  that  as  true  which  sleep  has  revealed  to  me  of  a 
ilattering  nature. 

Ulr.  Romeo  means  to  say,  If  I  dare  trust  the  truth  which  one  is  wont  to  impute 
to  dreams,  but  which  is  only  the  truth  of  a  flattery,  therefore  unsafe,  untrustworthy, 
then  my  dreams  presage,  &c.  I  can  find  no  meaning  in  the  emendation  of  Col- 
lier's (MS.). 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  Sleep  the  poet  elsewhere  calls  'balm  of  hurt  minds,'  and  '  Nature's 
soft  nurse.* 

Sta.  The  '  truth  of  sleep'  is  even  less  intelligible  than  the  '  eye  of  sleep.'  By  the 
latter  Sh.  perhaps  meant  vision,  view,  prospect.     Thus  in  King  John,  II,  i,  207 : 

'  These  flags  of  France,  that  are  advanced  here 
Before  the  eye  and  prospect  of  your  town.' 

*ind  in  '  Much  Ado,'  IV,  i,  228 : 

'  And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 
More  moving — delicate  and  full  of  life. 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul.' 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  This  seems  one  of  the  happiest  of  the  minor  emendations  of  the 
(MS.).  Nothing  can  well  be  more  intelligible  and  pertinent  than  'death'  instead 
of  truth.  It  was  the  '  flattering  death  of  sleep,'  because  Romeo  had  had  such  '  flat- 
tering' dreams  during  '  sleep,'  which  state  has  been,  over  and  over  again,  likened 
by  poets  to  '  death.'     The  '  flattering  eye  of  sleep'  nobody  can  satisfactorily  explain, 

Dyce  {'Strictures'  &c.,  p.  167,  1S59).  Mr.  Collier  may  be  assured  that  this  new 
reading  will  seem  to  everybody  else  (Professor  Mommsen  perhaps  excepted)  one 
of  the  rashest  and  most  unfortunate  of  the  changes  recorded  in  that  omnium  gath- 
erum of  conjecture. 


ACTV,  sc.  L]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  257 

Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts.  5 

I  dreamt  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead — 

Dyce  (ed.  2)  [simply  enumerates  the  various  conjectures].  Ed. 
White.  '  The  Jlattering  sooth' — that  is,  the  flattering  augury  or  prognostication 
of  sleep.     So  Spenser : 

•And  tryed  time  yet  taught  me  greater  thinges 

The  sodain  rising  of  the  raging  seas, 
The  soothe  of  byrdes  by  beating  of  their  winges, 
The  powre  of  herbes,'  &c — The  Shepherd's  Calendar,  1.  85. 

The  interpretation  of  dreams  was  one  of  the  most  important  functions  of  the  sootn- 
sayer.  The  word  can  hardly  need  gloss  or  explanation  of  any  kind.  The  reading 
of  F,  is  quite  incomprehensible ;  for  what  is  the  '  truth  of  sleep'  ?  But  although 
« truth'  could  not  be  a  misprint  for  » eye,'  it  might  very  easily  be  printed  for  'yboth' 
for  '_/buth,'  as  it  was  commonly  written),  either  through  mistake  of  eye  or  ear.  And 
there  is  a  connection  of  ideas  between  the  presaging  '  eye  of  sleep'  and  the  '  sooth 
of  sleep'  in  dreams,  by  which  we  can  detect  the  correcting  hand  of  the  poet,  or  the 
confused  memory  of  the  procurer  of  (Q,),  and  which  is  not  traceable  between  '  eye' 
and  '  truth.'  For,  even  according  to  ancient  usage,  '  sooth'  and  '  truth'  were  not 
absolute  synonjrms.  '  Sooth'  was  a  promising,  forward-looking,  or  a  sweet,  pleasant 
truth;  and  in  this  shade  of  difference  is  the  affinity  between  the  reading  of  (QJ  and 
that  of  this  corrected  text.  Pericles,  I,  ii,  44,  in  a  passage  unmistakably  Sh.'s,  fui 
nishes  at  once  a  comment  upon  this  reading  and  a  confirmation  of  it : 

'  When  Signior  Sooth,  here,  does  proclaim  a  peace, 
He  flatters  you,  makes  war  upon  your  life.' 

MoMMSEN,  in  his  chapter  on  the  value  of  Collier's  (MS.),  enumerates  certain  cor- 
rections, of  which  this  is  one,  and,  remarking  that  all  these  corrections  are  intelli- 
gent, questions  whether  any  one  could  affirm  with  confidence  that  Sh.  could  not  have 
written  thus.  '  Are  not  the  recollections  of  the  stage  a  sort  of  authority  ?'  he  asks, 
and  ought  we  not  to  believe  that  the  (MS.),  who  goes  to  work  in  such  a  brief  and 
decided  manner,  was  guided  for  the  most  part  by  a  distinct  recollection  of  the  acted 
play? 

Ktly.  I  can  see  no  sense  in  'truth,'  while  '  eye'  seems  to  be  justified  by 

'  Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain- tops  with  sovereign  eye.' — Son.  xxxiii. 

In  both  places  flatter  seems  to  mean  cheer,  enliven.  '  Eye'  is,  as  in  '  Eye  of  green' 
(Temp.  II,  i,  54),  look,  glance;  •  Yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye,'  III,  v,  19. 

Clarke.  We  greatly  prefer  'truth  of  sleep;'  poetically  conveying,  as  it  does,  to 
our  imagination  the  verisimilitude  of  visions  presented  during  sleep.  '  Flattering'  is 
here  used  in  the  sense  of  '  illusive;'  as  in  II,  ii,  141. 

The  Cornhill  Magazine  {October,  1866,  p.  453).  The  essence  of  a  genuine 
presentiment  is  that  it  shall  be  spontaneous.  It  must  come  at  a  time  when  there  is 
no  apparent  cause  for  its  presence,  when  there  is  even  some  difficulty  in  its  interpre- 
tation. There  must  be  no  natural  cause  for  fear  or  uneasiness.  If  the  presentiment 
warns  us  of  anything,  we  do  not  escape  it  by  refusing  to  listen  to  the  presentiment; 
on  the  contrary  we  make  it  inevitable.  This  is  the  moral  of  the  presentiments  given 
us  by  Sh.  In  all  the  instances  that  he  gives  us,  the  warning  is  neglected  and  the 
fate  comes.  The  simplest  of  them  all  is  Hamlet  (V,  ii,  222),  and  it  is  the  strongest 
22*  R 


2 58  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [ACT  v,  sc.  i 

Strange  dream,  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to  think ! — 

And  breathed  such  hfe  with  kisses  in  my  Hps  ; 

That  I  revived  and  was  an  emperor. 

Ah  me !  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possess'd,  10 

When  but  love's  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy ! 

Enter  Balthasar. 

News  from  Verona  ! — How  now,  Balthasar ! 
Dost  thou  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  friar  ? 
How  doth  my  lady  ?     Is  my  father  well  ? 

7.  dream,  that  gives\  dreams  that  ^S^-^^-  Enter  Romeos  man  Balthazer 
give  Qj.  Q4Q5-      Enter,, ..booted.    Cambr.,   from 

II.     Enter...]    Enter    Romeos   man,         (Qj- 

proof  of  Sh.'s  belief  in  them.  Hamlet  had  no  cause  for  suspicion  in  the  challenge 
to  fence  with  Laertes.  Desdemona's  presentiment  (Othello,  IV,  iii,  23)  will  not 
stand  the  test  that  we  have  laid  down.  From  Othello's  anger  she  had  great  cause  to 
fear.  From  the  case  of  Romeo,  an  opponent  of  presentiments  would  argue  that  Sh. 
was  on  his  side.  He  evidently  believed  that  an  unusually  joyful  mood  was  the  fore- 
runner of  disaster.  The  Scotch  consider  a  man  in  very  high  spirits  as  on  the  brink 
of  a  calamity,  as  the  ser\ants  in  Guy  Mannering  said  the  gauger  was  fey.  If  Romeo 
had  known  the  trath,  he  had  the  best  reason  to  be  cheerful.  How  was  the  presenti- 
ment to  know  that  Juliet's  message  would  miscarry?  Had  Romeo  but  trusted  to  the 
presentiment  instead  of  his  own  rash  judgement,  his  fate  would  not  have  been 
tragic.  As  it  was,  the  presentiment  did  all  in  its  power.  It  warned  him  of  some- 
thing govd,  and  he  refused  to  believe  it.  You  cannot  blame  your  guide  for  mislead- 
ing you  if  you  will  not  follow  his  guidance.  Notably  enough,  none  of  Sh.'s  charac- 
ters do  follow  that  guidance.  They  did  not  believe  in  presentiments  as  their  creator 
did.     [A  necessarily  brief  digest.  Ed.] 

3.  bosom's  lord]  Johns.  These  three  lines  are  very  gay  and  pleasing.  But 
why  does  Sh.  give  Romeo  this  involuntary  cheerfulness  just  before  the  extremity  of 
anhappiness?  Perhaps  to  show  the  vanity  of  trusting  to  those  uncertain  and  casual 
exaltations  or  depressions  which  many  consider  as  certain  fore-tokens  of  good  or 
evil.     \_Sing.  Com.  Verp.  Huds. 

[See  the  notes  on  III,  v,  53.  Ed.] 

Steev.  The  poet  has  explained  this  p.assage  himself  a  little  further  on,  V,  iii,  88. 
\_Sing.'\  So  in  King  Arthur,  a  Poem,  by  R.  Chester,  1601  :  '  How  his  deepe  bosomet 
Urd  the  dutchess  thwarted.'  The  author,  in  a  marginal  note,  declares  that  by 
bosom's  lord  he  meanr. — Cupid. 

Mal.  Thus,  too,  in  Othello,  III,  iii,  448 :  '  Yield  up,  O  Loz'e,  thy  crown  and 
hearted  throne.' 

Del.  infers  the  same,  from  the  same  reference  to  Othello. 

3.  in  his]  White.   Here,  as  well  as  in  the  fifth  line  below,  '  in'  is  use  1  for  •  upon. 

8.  breathed  such  life]  Steev.  Sh.  seems  here  to  have  remembered  Marlowe'i 
Hero  and  Leander,  a  poem,  that  he  has  quoted  in  As  You  Like  It:  '//c  kiss'd  hrr 
•nd  breaih'd  life  into  her  lip;,'  &c.      [Sing. 


ACTV,  sc.i.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  259 

How  fares  my  Juliet?  that  I  ask  again  ;  1 5 

For  nothing  can  be  ill,  if  she  be  well. 

Bal.     Then  she  is  well,  and  nothing  can  be  ill : 
Her  body  sleeps  in  Capels'  monument, 
And  her  immortal  part  with  angels  lives. 

I  saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred's  vault,  20 

And  presently  took  post  to  tell  it  you : 
O,  pardon  me  for  bringing  these  ill  news, 
Since  you  did  leave  it  for  my  office,  sir, 

Rom.     Is  it  even  so  ?  then  I  defy  you,  stars  ! — 

15.    fares   my   Jiiliei']    (Q,)    Steev.  19.     lives']  live  F,. 

dolk  my  Lady  Juliet  QqFf,  Rowe,  Knt.  24.     Two  lines,  Ff,  Rowe. 

Del.  Sta.  Cham,     doth  7ny  Juliet  Pope,  even]  in  Q^.   e''en  Coll.  Ulr.  Del. 

&c.  Capell.    fares  my  lady  Juliet  Corn.  Huds.  White,  Hal.  Cambr. 

18.     Capels']     Mai.       Capels    QqFf.  fl'^/o?^,]  Pope  from  (QJ.   deme 

Capulet's    F^,     Rowe,    &c.      Capulets'  you   Q^QjQ^F,.      denv  you   F^Q.F^F^, 

Warb.  Capell.  Rowe,  Capell,  Del. 

15.  fares  my  Juliet]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  The  compositor,  probably,  caught  the 
words,  '  How  doth  my  lady,'  from  the  line  immediately  preceding,  and  thus  injured 
[in  QqFf]  the  rhythm  of  the  passage.     \_Ulr. 

Del.  a  repetition  of  the  question,  almost  word  for  word,  is  the  more  admissible 
here,  since  Romeo  immediately  adds,  '  That  I  ask  again.' 

White.  '  How  doth  my  lady  Juliet'  would  clearly  seem  an  accidental  repetition  of 
the  question  in  the  line  immediately  above  it ;  even  if  it  did  not  add  two  entirely 
superfluous  syllables  to  the  verse. 

18.  Capels']  Mal.  Sh.  found  Capel  2XiA  Capulet  nstd  indiscriminately  in  Romeus 
and  Juliet.     \_Sing. 

Del.  This  abbreviation  is  found  only  here  and  once  afterwards  in  the  same  con- 
nection with  monument.     In  (QJ  it  occurs  in  other  places. 

24.  I  defy  you,  stars]  Ulr.  '/  deny  you'  would  at  once  turn  Romeo  into  an 
atheist. 

Del.  Romeo,  in  his  death-defying  despair,  renounces  the  stars  in  which  he  had 
hitherto  had  faith.  In  King  John  I,  i,  252,  the  phrase  is  used  in  the  same  sense: 
•As  faithfully  as  I  deny  the  devil.' 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Deny  and  ^defy  were,  of  old,  used  somewhat  sjmonymously.  It 
is  'defy'  in  the  (MS.). 

White.  Although  the  reading, '  I  deny  you,  stars,'  is  not  inappropriate,  any  doubts 
as  to  the  presence  in  it  of  a  slight  typographical  error  are  entirely  removed  by  Ro- 
meo's words  in  V,  iii.  III. 

Clarke.  There  is  a  terribly  quiet  depth  of  concentrated  anguish  and  will  in  thi? 
brief  despairing  ejaculation  of  Romeo's  that  is  more  expressive  than  a  hundred 
raving  lines  of  lament  would  be.  It  is  noteworthy,  too,  how  the  few  pertinent 
words  which  follow  are  just  to  the  point  for  dramatic  purpose,  and  nothing  more ; 
while  the  servant's  observation,  •  Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,'  furnish  signlficasr 
comment. 


26o  ROMEO   AND   JULIEl .  [act  v,  sc  i 

Thou  know'st  my  lodging :  get  me  ink  and  paper,  25 

And  hire  post-horses  ;  I  will  hence  to-night. 

Bal.     I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  have  patience : 
Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
Some  misadventure. 

Rovi.  Tush,  thou  art  deceived  : 

Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  thee  do.  30 

Hast  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar  ? 

Bal.     No,  my  good  lord. 

Rom.  No  matter :  get  thee  gone, 

And  hire  those  horses ;  Til  be  with  thee  straight. 

\Exit  Balthasar. 
Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 

Let's  see  for  means  : — O  mischief,  thou  art  swift  35 

To  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men ! 
I  do  remember  an  apothecary, — 

25.     kn<m)'st\  Qj.    knowest  The  rest.  32.     my  good'\  good  my  Rowe,  &«,. 

Sta.  (Warb.  Johns.) 

27.     /...patience  :'\  Pardon  me  sir,  I  33.     [Exit...]    After   lord,    line    32, 

dare  not  leave  you  thus.  Pope,  &c.  from  QqFf. 

(QJ.    Pardon  me,  sir,  I  will  not  leave  36.     thoughts']  thought  Rowe,  &c. 
you  thus.  Steev.  Var. 

27.  patience]  Knt.  (ed.  2).  All  the  remaining  dialogue  in  (Q,)  differs  from  the 
amended  text  of  the  author,  and  the  changes  show  his  accurate  judgment.  For 
example :  '  Hast  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar?'  that  most  important  repetition 
is  omitted  in  the  original  play.     Are  we  not  to  trust  to  this  judgment? 

35.  O  mischief]  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Pem.'  vol.  ii,  p.  158).  This  famous  passage 
is  so  beautiful  as  to  be  self-justified ;  yet,  in  addition,  what  a  fine  preparation  is  it  for 
the  tomb  scene ! 

37.  an  apothecary]  Knt.  The  criticism  of  the  French  school  has  not  spared 
this  famous  passage.  Joseph  Warton,  an  elegant  scholar,  but  who  belonged  to  this 
school,  has  the  following  observations  in  his  Virgil  (1763,  vol.  i,  page  301) : 

'  It  may  not  be  improper  to  produce  the  following  glaring  instance  of  the  absurdity  of  introduang 
long  and  minute  descriptions  into  tragedy.  When  Romeo  receives  the  dreadful  and  unexpected  newt 
of  Juliet's  death,  this  fond  husband,  in  an  agony  of  grief,  immediately  resolves  to  poison  himself  But 
his  sorrow  is  interrupted  while  he  gives  us  an  exact  picture  of  the  apothecary-shop,  where  he  intend* 
to  purchase  the  poison.  I  appeal  to  those  who  know  anything  of  the  human  heart,  whether  Romeo^ 
in  this  distressful  situation,  could  have  leisure  to  think  of  the  alligator,  empty  boxes,  and  bladders,  and 
other  furniture  of  this  beggarly  shop,  and  to  point  them  out  so  distinctly  to  the  audience.  The  descrip- 
tion is,  indeed,  very  lively  and  natural,  but  very  improperly  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  person  agitated 
•ith  such  passion  as  Romeo  is  represented  to  be.' 

The  criticism  of  Warton,  ingenious  as  it  may  appear,  and  true  as  applied  to  many 
*  long  and  minute  descriptions  in  tragedy,'  is  here  based  upon  a  wrong  principle. 
He  says  that  Romeo,  in  his  distressful  situation,  had  not  '  leisure'  to  think  of  the 
furniture  of  the  apothecary's  shop.     WTiat  then  had  he  leisure  to  do?     Had  he  leis- 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  251 

And  hereabouts  he  dwells,  which  late  I  noted 
In  tatter'd  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brows, 

38.     he\    a    Q.QjQ^.      om.    F,.      a'  38.     whichi    whom    (Q,)    Pope,  &c. 

Cambr.  Capell,  Var.  Sing.  Huds.  Ktly. 

ure  to  run  off  into  declamations  against  fate  and  into  tedious  apostrophes  and  gen- 
eralizations, as  a  less  skilful  artist  than  Sh.  would  have  made  him  indulge  in  ?  From 
the  moment  he  had  said, '  Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night,  Let's  see  for  means,' 
the  apothecary's  shop  became  to  him  the  object  of  the  most  intense  interest.  Great 
passions,  when  they  have  shaped  themselves  into  firm  resolves,  attach  the  most  dis- 
tinct importance  to  the  minutest  objects  connected  with  the  execution  of  their  pur- 
pose. He  had  seen  the  apothecary's  shop  in  his  placid  moments  as  an  object  of 
curiosity.  He  had  hastily  looked  at  the  tortoise  and  the  alligator,  the  empty  boxes 
and  the  earthen  pots ;  and  he  had  looked  at  the  tattered  weed  and  overwhelming 
brows  of  their  needy  owner.     But  he  had  also  said,  when  he  first  saw  these  things : 

'  An  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now, 
Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 
Here  lives  a  caitiff  wretch  would  sell  it  him.' 

When  he  did  need  a  poison,  all  these  documents  of  the  misery  that  was  to  servf* 
him,  came  with  a  double  intensity  upon  his  vision.  The  shaping  of  these  things  into 
words  was  not  for  the  audience.  It  was  not  to  introduce  a '  long  and  minute  descrip- 
tion into  tragedy'  that  had  no  foundation  in  the  workings  of  nature.  It  was  the 
very  cunning  of  nature  which  produced  this  description.  Mischief  was,  indeed, 
swift  to  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  the  desperate  man.  But  the  mind  once  made  up, 
it  took  a  perverse  pleasure  in  going  over  every  circumstance  that  had  suggested  the 
means  of  mischief.  All  other  thoughts  had  passed  out  of  Romeo's  mind.  He  had 
nothing  left  but  to  die ;  and  everything  connected  with  the  means  of  his  death  was 
seized  upon  by  his  imagination  with  an  energy  that  could  only  find  relief  in  words. 
Sh.  has  exhibited  the  same  knowledge  of  nature  in  his  sad  and  solemn  poem  of 
« The  Rape  of  Lucrece,'  where  the  injured  wife,  having  resolved  to  wipe  out  her 

Btain  by  death, 

'  calls  to  mind  where  hangs  a  piece 

Of  skilfull  painting,  oiade  for  Priam's  Troy.' — 1366,  7. 

She  sees  in  that  painting  some  fancied  resemblance  to  her  own  position,  and  spends 
the  heavy  hours  till  her  husband  arrives  in  its  contemplation  [1496-8].  It  was  the 
intense  interest  in  his  own>  resolve  which  made  Romeo  so  minutely  describe  his 
apothecary.     But  that  stage  past,  came  the  abstraction  of  his  sorrow  : 

'  What  said  my  man,  when  my  betossed  soul 
Did  not  attend  him,  as  we  rode?    I  think 
He  told  me  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet.' 

Juliet  was  dead,  and  what  mattered  it  to  his  '  betossed  soul'  who  she  should  have 
married  ?  '  Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night'  was  the  sole  thought  that 
made  him  remember  an  '  apothecary,'  and  treat  what  his  servant  said  as  a  '  dream.' 
Who  but  Sh.  could  have  given  us  the  key  to  these  subtle  and  delicate  workings  of 
the  human  heart  ? 

Sta.   This  well-kn  )wn   description  was  carefully  elaborated  after  it  appeared 
in  (Q.). 


262  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  v,  sr.  L 

Culling  of  simples  ;  meagre  were  his  looks  ;  40 

Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones : 
And  in  his  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 
An  alligator  stuff'd  and  other  skins 

White.  This  picture  of  the  apothecary  and  his  shop  is  one  of  the  passages  which 
seem  to  show  most  plainly,  by  comparison  of  the  earlier  and  later  versions,  the  per- 
fecting labor  bestowed  upon  the  former  by  the  author. 

40.  Culling  of]  Abbott  {'Shakespearian  Grammar^  P.  170,  (ed.  3)  1870).  Of 
naturally  followed  a  verbal  noun.  In  many  cases  we  should  call  the  verbal  noun  a 
participle,  and  the  o/"has  become  unintelligible  to  us,  because  of  the  omission  of  th» 
prepositional  'a,'  'in,'  or  'on.'     Thus  '  ((7-)culling  of,'  &c. 

41.  Sharp  misery]  Mal.  See  Sackville's  description  of  Misery  in  his  Induc- 
tion :  '  Ilis  face  was  leane,  and  some  deal  pinde  away ;  And  eke  his  hands  consumed 
to  the  bone.^     \_Sing. 

43.  An  alligator  stuff'd]  Mal.  It  appears  from  Nashe's  Have  With  You  to 
Saffron  Walden,  1596,  that  a  stuffed  alligator,  in  Sh.'s  time,  made  part  of  the  furni- 
ture of  an  apothecary's  shop.  '  He  made'  (says  Nashe)  '  an  anatomic  of  a  rat,  and 
after  hanged  her  over  his  head,  instead  of  an  apothecary' s  crocodile  or  dried  alli- 
gator.^    \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Clarke,  Hal. 

Steev.  I  was  many  years  ago  assured  that,  formerly,  when  an  apothecary  first 
engaged  with  his  druggist,  he  was  gratuitously  furnished  by  him  with  these  articles 
of  show,  which  were  then  imported  for  that  use  only.  I  have  met  with  the  alligator, 
tortoise,  lic,  hanging  up  in  tlie  shop  of  an  ancient  apothecary  at  Limehouse,  as  well 
as  in  places  more  remote  from  our  metropolis.  See  Hogarth,  Marriage  i  la  Mode, 
plate  iii.  It  may  be  remarked,  however,  that  the  apothecaries  dismissed  their  alli- 
gators, &c.,  some  time  before  the  physicians  were  willing  to  part  with  their  amber- 
headed  canes  and  solemn  periwigs.     \^Sing.  Hal. 

Douce.  This  word  was  probably  introduced  into  the  language  by  some  of  our 
early  voyagers  to  the  Spanish  or  Portuguese  settlements  in  the  newly-discovered 
world.  They  would  hear  the  Spaniards  discoursing  of  the  animal  by  the  name  of 
el  lagarto,  or  the  lizard — Lat.,  lacerta  ;  and  on  their  return  home  they  would  inform 
their  countrymen  that  this  sort  of  crocodile  was  called  an  alligator. 

Halliwell.  Mr.  Fairholt  sends  me  this  note:  «  Romeo's  description  of  the  shop 
of  the  poor  apothecary  may  be  accepted  as  minutely  accurate,  for  it  was  customary 
with  his  class  "  to  make  a  show,"  according  to  their  means.  Rows  of  drug-bottles 
in  Majolica,  highly  decorated  by  painting,  filled  their  shelves,  and  are  now  among 
the  most  coveted  articles  to  collectors  of  "  Raffaelle-ware."  The  apothecary's  shop 
was  then  (as  it  is  now  in  Italy)  the  rendezvous  for  idlers  and  elderly  gossips;  hence 
the  proprietor  made  the  best  display  he  could  of  his  own  position.  Dried  fishes  and 
marine  monsters  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling;  "an  alligator  stufT'd"  was  the 
most  coveted  and  indispensable  of  all ;  and  we  rarely  meet  with  any  representation 
of  the  shop  of  the  humblest  medical  practitioner  without  one.  In  Dutch  art  they 
abound.  Our  cut  represents  that  of  a  village  barber-surgeon  after  one  of  Teniers 
best  pictures.' 

In  addition  to  the  foregoing  notes  may  be  quoted  the  following  curious  lines  from 
Garth's  Dispensary,  an  account  of  a  similar  shop: 

'  Here  mummies  lay  most  revcrendly  stale ; 
And  there  the  tortois  hung  her  coat  o'  mAil 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  263 

Of  ill-shaped  fishes ;  and  about  his  shelves 

A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes,  45 

Green  earthen  pots,  bladders  and  musty  seeds, 

Renniants  of  packthread  and  old  cakes  of  roses, 

Were  thinly  scatter'd,  to  make  up  a  show. 

45.    beggarly\  braggartly  ^2.x\i.coxi).  48.    Jc^^^r't/]  Theob.  (ed  2).     scii- 

tered  QqFf. 


Not  far  from  some  huge  shark's  devouring  head. 

The  flying-fish  their  finny  pinions  spread  ; 

Aloft  in  rows  large  poppy  heads  were  strung. 

And,  near,  a  scaly  alligator  hung. 

In  this  place,  drugs  in  musty  heaps  decay'd  ; 

In  that,  dry"d  bladders  and  drawn  teeth  were  laid.' 

45.  empty  boxes]  Steev.  This  circumstance  is  likewise  found  in  Painter,  torn,  u, 

p.  241  :  ' beholdyng  an  apoticaries  shoppe  of  lytle  furniture,  and  lesse  store  of 

boxes  and  other  thynges  requisite  for  that  science,  thought  that  the  verie  povertie  of 
the  mayster  apothecarye  would  make  him  wyllyngly  yelde  to  that  whych  he  pre- 
tended to  demaunde.'     \_Hal. 

Mal.  It  is  clear,  I  think,  that  Sh.  had  here  Brooke's  poem  before  him : 

'And  seeking  long  (alac,  too  soone),  the  thing  he  sought,  he  founde. 
An  apothecary  sate  unbusied  at  his  doore. 
Whom  by  his  heavy  countenance  he  gessed  to  be  poore ; 
And  in  his  shop  he  saw  his  boxes  were  but  fewe. 
And  in  his  window  (of  his  wares)  there  was  so  small  a  shew; 
Wherfore  our  Romeus  assuredly  hath  thought. 
What  by  no  frendship  could  be  got,  with  money  should  be  bought; 
For  nedy  lacke  is  lyke  the  poore  man  to  compell 
To  sell  that  which  the  cities  lawe  forbiddeth  him  to  sell. — 
Take  fiftie  crownes  of  gold  (quoth  he)  I  geve  them  thee. — 
Fayre  syr  (quoth  he),  be  sure  this  is  the  speeding  gere. 
And  more  there  is  then  you  shall  nede  ;  for  halfe  of  that  is  there 
Will  serve,  I  undertake,  in  lesse  than  halfe  an  howre. 
To  kill  the  strongest  man  alive ;  such  is  the  poysons  power.'    \_Hal.  Cham. 

46.  Green  earthen  pots]  Halliwell.  The  manufacture  of  green  earthen  pots 
•i^as  carried  on  in  England  in  Sh.'s  time,  as  appears  from  the  following  curious  letter, 
written  in  August,  1594,  from  Sir  Julius  Csesar  to  Sir  William  Moore:  'After  my 
hartie  comendacions,  &c.,  Wlieras  in  tymes  past  the  bearer  hereof  hath  had  out  of 
the  parke  of  Famham,  belonging  to  the  Bishopprick  of  Winchester,  certaine  white 
clay  for  the  making  of  grene  potts  usually  drunk  in  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Temple ; 
and  nowe  understandinge  of  some  restraint  thereof,  and  that  you  (amongst  others) 
are  authorized  there  in  divers  respects  during  the  vacancye  of  the  said  Busshoppricke ; 
my  request  therefore  unto  you  is,  and  the  rather  for  that  I  am  a  member  of  the  said 
house,  that  you  would  in  favour  of  us  all  permytt  the  bearer  hereof  to  digge  and 
carie  awaye  so  muche  of  the  said  claye  as  by  him  shalbe  thought  sufficient  for  the 
fumishinge  of  the  said  house  with  grene  potts  as  aforesaid,  paying  as  he  hath  here- 
tofore for  the  same.  In  accomplishement  whereof,  myself,  with  the  whole  societie, 
•ball  acknowledge  ourselves  muche  beholden  unto  you,  and  shalbe  readie  to  requite 
you,  at  all  tymes  hereafter,  with  the  like  pleasure.  And  so  I  bid  you  mo'te  hartelie 
farewell.' 


264  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  I 

Noting  this  penury,  to  myself  I  said, 

An  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now,  50 

Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 

Here  lives  a  caitiff  wretch  would  sell  it  him. 

O,  this  same  thought  did  but  forerun  my  need, 

And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 

As  I  remember,  this  should  be  the  house :  5J 

Being  holiday,  the  beggar's  shop  is  shut. — 

What,  ho  !  apothecary ! 

Enter  Apothecary. 

Ap.  Who  calls  so  loud  ? 

Rom.     Come  hither,  man,     I  see  that  thou  art  pooi  ; 
Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats :  let  me  have 

A  dram  of  poison ;  such  soon-speeding  gear  60 

As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins. 
That  the  life-weary  taker  may  fall  dead, 
And  that  the  trunk  may  be  discharged  of  breath 
As  violently  as  hasty  powder  fired 
Doth  hurry  from  the  fatal  cannon's  womb.  65 

50.     An  t/l  And  if  Q5F3F^.  Rowe,  57,     Enter  Apothecary.]  om.  Qq. 

Pope,  Sing.  Ktly.  60.     soon- speeding']  F  .    soon  speeding 

50-52.     An. ..him]  'An...him.^  Com.  F  .     soo7ie  spreading  Q  ,  Pope,      soone 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  speeding  The  rest. 

50.  An  if]  Abbott  {Shakespearian  Grammar,  1869,  Art.  37).  This  particle 
[An^if  ]  has  been  derived  from  an,  the  imperative  oi  anan,  to  grant.  But  the  word 
is  generally  written  and  in  Early  English  (Stratmann),  and  frequently  in  Elizabethan 
authors.  .  .  .  The  true  explanation  appears  to  be  that  the  hypothesis,  the  if,  is 
expressed  not  by  the  and,  but  by  the  subjunctive,  and  that  and  merely  means  Tvith 
the  addition  of,  plus,  just  as  but  means  leaving  out,  or  minus.  .  ,  .  Latterly,  the 
subjunctive,  falling  into  disuse,  was  felt  to  be  too  weak  unaided  to  express  the 
hypothesis ;  and  the  same  tendency  which  introduced  '  more  better,'  '  most  unkind- 
est,'  &c.,  superseded  and  by  and  if,  an  if  and  if.  There  is  nothing  remarkable  in 
the  change  of  and  into  an.  And,  even  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  often  written  an  in 
Early  English.     (See  Halliwell.) 

51.  Mantua]  Knt.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  in  his  'Discourse  of  Tenures,'  says: 
'  By  the  laws  of  Spain  and  Portugal  it  is  not  lawful  to  sell  poison.'  A  similar  law. 
If  we  are  rightly  informed,  prevailed  in  Italy.  There  is  no  such  law  in  our  own 
statute-book ;  and  the  circumstance  is  a  remarkable  exemplification  of  the  difference 
between  English  and  continental  manners. 

57.  What  ho !  apothecary]  Knt.  [gives  the  text  of  (Q,),  and  adds]  :  The 
studies  in  poetical  art,  which  Sh.'s  corrections  of  himself  supply,  are  amongst  the 
most  instructive  ir  the  whole  compass  of  literature,     f  Verp. 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.j  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  265 

Ap.     Such  mortal  drugs  I  have ;  but  Mantua's  law 
Is  death  to  any  he  that  utters  them. 

Rovi.     Art  thou  so  bare  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ?  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thy  eyes,  70 

Contempt  and  beggary  hangs  upon  thy  back, 

69.  fear^st'\fearestC^J^C^.  71.     Contempt. ..back,']  Upon  Iky  back 

70.  starveth  in]  stareth  in  Rowe  hangs  ragged  misery  {(^^)?)ie.&y.  i^i'j'j'^), 
(ed.  2)*  (Otway's  version),  Capell,  Sing.         Var.  (Com.) 

Dyce  (ed.  2),  Ktly.    stare  within  Pope,  hangs   upon"]   Q^^Q^Q^Fj,   Dyce, 

&c.    starieth  in  Anon,  conj.*  Sta.  Cambr.     hang  on  F^F  F  ,  Rowe, 

thy]   thine   QjF^F^,   Rowe,  &c.  Pope,    Han.     hang   upon   Q  ,   Theob. 

Capell,  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly.  Warb.  Johns.  Knt.  Corn.  Coll.  et  cet. 

67.  any  he]  Del.  So  in  Tam.  of  Shrew,  III,  ii,  236 :  '  I'll  bring  mine  action 
on  the  proudest  he.' 

70.  starveth  in]  Ritson.  Need  and  oppression  cannot,  properly,  be  said  to 
ttarve  in  his  eyes,  though  starved  famine  may  be  allowed  to  dwell  in  his  cheeks 
\Sing.  Dyce. 

Mal.    The  word  starved  in  (QJ  shows  that  starveth  is  right.     \^Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Sing.  The  alteration,  in  Otway's  version,  is  so  slight  that  it  well  merits  adoption. 
Ritson's  observation  is  just. 

Verp.  [(Q,)  quoted].  Certainly  very  good  lines,  which  might  very  well  keep  their 
place,  if  the  author  had  chosen  it,  but  we  have  no  right  with  Steevens  and  the  ordi- 
nary text  to  make  an  entire  new  reading  by  piecing  together  the  two.  Otway's  em- 
endation is  a  poetical  and  probable  emendation.  Yet  the  original  phrase,  though 
harsh,  is  powerful  and  expressive,  and  not  to  be  thrown  out  on  mere  conjecture. 
The  singular  verb  starveth,  with  the  two  nouns,  was  not  a  grammatical  error  accord- 
ing to  old  English  usage  when  both  nominatives,  as  here,  made  up  one  compound 
idea.  Unless,  therefore,  we  choose  to  erase  all  the  peculiarities  of  ancient  idiom, 
there  is  no  reason  to  adopt  Pope's  double  emendation.     \_Huds. 

Ulr.  That  this  genuinely  Shakespearian,  boldly  poetic  expression  ['starveth  in'] 
is  preferable  to  all  other  attempts  at  emendation,  seems  to  me  indubitable. 

HUDS.  As  it  stands,  the  expression  conveys  a  strong  sense,  though  it  will  hardly 
bear  analyzing. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Some  modem  editors,  without  any  other  authority  than  that  of 
Otway  in  his  Caius  Marius,  read  ^stareth? 

Sta.  Although  Otway's  reading  has  been  adopted  by  several  of  the  modem 
editors,  and  is  perhaps  preferable  to  the  other,  I  have  not  felt  justified  in  departing 
from  the  old  text. 

Dyce  (ed.  2)  [Ritson's  criticism  quoted  with  approval].  Otway  was  the  first  to 
substitute  ^stareth'  for  the  corruption  'starveth' — Otway  being  endowed  with  common 
sense  as  well  as  with  genius. 

Clarke.   As  well  might  Ritson  object  that  contempt  and  beggary  cannot  strictiv 
be  said  to  hang  upon  his  back.     These  are  among  the  bold  licenses  of  expression 
that  poets  take,  and  which  are  full  of  poetic  significance  to  poetic  mind?    iirhilt 
affording  trouble  and  pe  plexity  to  literal  scanners. 
23 


266  ROMEO   AXD   IfULIET.  [act  v,  sc  I 

The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world's  law : 
The  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich ; 
Then  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 

Ap.     My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents.  75 

Rovi.     I  pay  thy  poverty  and  not  thy  will. 

Ap.     Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will, 
And  drink  it  off;  and,  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  dispatch  you  straight. 

Rom.     There  is  thy  gold,  worse  poison  to  men's  souls,  80 

Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world, 
Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  mayst  not  sell : 
I  sell  thee  poison,  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 
Farewell :  buy  food,  and  get  thyself  in  flesh. — 
Come,  cordial  and  not  poison,  go  with  me  85 

To  Juliet's  grave ;  for  there  must  I  use  thee.  \Exeunt. 

76.    /«;']  /rrTy  Q^QjKf,  Rowe,  Knt.  8l.     miirders\    Q^Q^.      murder   'Y)^^ 

[Exit   Apoth.    and    re-enters.]    Coll.  rest.  Knt.  Sta.  Wliite,  Cambr. 

(ed.  2).  84.     thyself  m]  thee  into  (Q,)  Pope, 

So.      There  w]   There's  Ff.  &c. 
There... souls,"]  Two  lines,  Ff. 

71.  upon  thy  back]  Stkev.  I  have  restored  the  reading  of  (QJ  in  preference 
to  the  line  which  is  found  in  all  the  subsequent  impressions. 

Knt.  Steevens  again!  who  has  'recovered'  from  (QJ  the  line  in  our  common 
texts, 

Sta.    The  reading  of  (QJ  has  at  least  equal  force  of  expression. 

76.  I  pay]  Dyce  {'Fnu  AWes,'  &c.).  A  writer  in  The  14'estminster  Revie~u>,  vol. 
xliv,  p.  61,  says  that  'Knight  very  properly  restores  the  reading  of  Q^  and  F,, 
■'  pray :"  the  relation  here  is  between  Romeo's  earnestly  repeated  prayer  and  the 
apothecary's  consent :  the  moment  for  paying  him  is  not  yet  arrived.'  But  what 
does  the  writer  understand  by  the  concluding  words  of  Romeo's  preceding  speech, 
'  take  this  /'  can  he  doubt  that  'this'  means  the  gold  which  Romeo  holds  in  his  hand 
ready  to  pay  the  Apothecary  ? 

White.  I  pray  is  a  palpable  corruption.     Romeo  does  not  pray;  but  he  does  pay. 

77.  Put  this]  Steev.  Perhaps  when  Sh.  allotted  this  speech  to  the  Apothecary 
he  had  not  quite  forgot  the  following  passage  in  The  Pardoneres  Tale  of  Chaucer, 
12794: 

The  Potecary  answered,  thou  shall  have 

A  thing,  as  wisly  God  my  soul  shall  save, 

In  all  this  world  ther  n'  is  no  creature, 

That  ete  or  dronke  hath  of  this  confecture. 

Not  but  the  mountance  of  a  come  of  whete. 

That  he  ne  shal  his  lif  anon  forlete  ; 

Ye,  sterve  he  shal,  and  that  in  lesse  while. 

Than  thou  wolt  gon  a  pas  not  but  a  mile  : 

This  poison  is  so  strong  and  violent.'     \Sing.  Hal. 


ACTv,  sc.  ii.^  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  267 

Scene  II.     Friar  Laurence  s  cell. 
Enter  Friar  John. 
Ffi.  y.     Holy  Franciscan  friar !  brother,  ho  ! 

Enter  Friar  Laurence. 

Fri.  L.     This  same  should  be  the  voice  of  Friar  John. — 
Welcome  from  Mantua:  what  says  Romeo? 
Or,  if  his  mind  be  writ,  give  me  his  letter. 

Fti.  y.     Going  to  find  a  bare-foot  brother  out,  5 

One  of  our  order,  to  associate  me, 

Scene  ii.]  Rowe.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Friar  Laurence's  cell.]  Capell.    The  4.     if  his  inind'\  if  mind  F^F  K  . 

Monaster)'  near  Verona.  Rowe.   Verona. 

5.  Going  to  find]  Knt.  Friar  Laurence  and  his  associates  must  be  supposed  to 
belong  to  the  Franciscan  order  of  friars.  In  his  kindliness,  his  learning,  and  his 
inclination  to  mix  with  and,  perhaps,  control  the  affairs  of  the  world,  he  is  no  unapt 
representative  of  one  of  this  distinguished  order  in  their  best  days.  Warton,  in  his 
History  of  English  Poetry,  has  described  the  learning,  the  magnificence,  and  the 
prodigious  influence  of  this  remarkable  body.  Friar  Laurence  was  able  to  give  to 
Romeo  '  Adversity's  sweet  milk — philosophy.'  He  was  to  Romeo  '  a  divine,  a 
ghostly  confessor,  A  sin-al:)solver,  and  my  friend  professed ;'  but  he  was  yet  of  the 
world.  He  married  Romeo  and  his  mistress,  partly  to  gratify  their  love,  and  partly 
to  secure  his  influence  in  the  reconciliation  of  their  families.  Warton  says  the  Fran- 
ciscans •  managed  the  machines  of  every  important  operation  or  event,  both  in  the 
religious  and  political  world.' 

Mal.  So  in  Romeus  and  Juliet : 

'  Apace  our  frier  John  to  Mantua  him  hyes  ; 
And,  for  because  in  Italy  it  is  a  wonted  gj'se 
That  friers  in  the  towne  should  seeldome  walke  alone, 
But  of  theyr  covent  ay  should  be  accontpanide  with  one 
Of  his  profession,  straight  a  house  he  fyndeth  out. 
In  mynde  to  take  some  frier  with  him,  to  walke  the  towne  about.' 

Our  author,  having  occasion  for  Friar  John,  has  here  departed  from  the  poem, 
and  supposed  the  pestilence  to  rage  at  Verona,  instead  of  Mantua.  \^Sing.  Huds. 
Knt. 

6.  to  associate]  Steev.  Each  friar  has  always  a  companion  assigned  him  by 
the  Superior  when  he  asks  leave  to  go  out ;  and  thus,  says  Baretti,  they  are  a  check 
upon  each  other.     \_Sing.  Corn.  Verp.  Huds.  White  (substantially),  Cham.  Hal. 

Holt  White.  In  the  Visitatio  Notabilis  de  Seleburne,  a  curious  record  printed 
in  The  Natural  History  and  Antiquities  of  Selborne,  Wykeham  enjoins  the  canons 
not  to  go  abroad  without  leave  from  the  prior,  who  is  ordered  on  such  occasions  to 
assign  the  brother  a  companion,  ne  suspicio  sinistra  vel  scandalum  oriatur. — Apfniui.y 
p.  44S.     \_Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Hal. 


268  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  U. 

Here  in  this  city  visiting  the  sick, 

And  finding  him,  the  searchers  of  the  town, 

Suspecting  that  we  both  were  in  a  house 

Where  the  infectious  pestilence  did  reign,  10 

Seal'd  up  the  doors  and  would  not  let  us  forth ; 

So  that  my  speed  to  Mantua  there  was  stay'd. 

Fri.  L.     Who  bare  my  letter  then  to  Romeo  ? 

Fri.  y.     I  could  not  send  it, — here  it  is  again, — 
Nor  get  a  messenger  to  bring  it  thee,  15 

So  fearful  were  they  of  infection. 

Fri.  L.     Unhappy  fortune  !  by  my  brotherhood, 
The  letter  was  not  nice,  but  full  of  charge 
Of  dear  import,  and  the  neglecting  it 

May  do  much  danger.     Friar  John,  go  hence  ;  20 

Get  me  an  iron  crow  and  bring  it  straight 
Unto  my  cell. 

Fn.  y.     Brother,  I'll  go  and  bring  it  thee.  .  \Exii. 

7,  8.     Transpose    these    lines,    Mai.  14.     \^Giving  it'\   Coll.  (ed,  2). 

conj.  (withdrawnj,  Sta.  approves.  23.     it  thee.'\  it.  Han. 

13.     bare\  bore  Pope,  &c. 

Reed.  By  the  statutes  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  ch.  22,  it  is  declared.  That 
no  batchelor  or  scholar  shall  go  into  the  town  without  a  companion  as  a  witness  of 
his  honesty,  on  pain,  for  the  first  offence,  to  be  deprived  of  a  week's  commons,  with 
further  punishment  for  the  offence,  if  repeated.     \_Sing.  Httds.  Sta. 

Mal.  These  words  must  be  considered  parenthetical,  and  '  Here  in  this  city,'  &c., 
must  refer  to  the  bare-foot  brother.     [  Clarke. 

Verp.  a  shrewd  piece  of  policy  [travelling  in  pairs]  which  has  been  adopted  by 
our  American  Shakers. 

7,  8.  Here  .  .  .  town]  Spa.  Malone's  suggestion  that  these  lines  should  bt 
transposed  seems  very  probable. 

9.  house]  Del.  According  to  both  of  Sh.'s  authorities,  the  '  house'  was  the 
convent  to  which  the  latter  monk  belonged. 

16.  were  they]  Clarke.  The  manner  in  which  'they'  is  used  in  this  sentence 
affords  an  example  of  Sh.'s  employing  a  relatively  used  pronoun  in  reference  to  an 
implied  particular;  'a  messenger'  allowing  to  be  implied,  in  the  word  'they,'  those 
who  would  not  undertake  to  bear  a  message  for  fear  of  infection. 

18.  nice]  Steev.  /.<•.,  was  not  written  on  a  trivial  or  idle  subject.  [Sing.  Huds. 
Kni  Cell.  White.'\  The  learned  editor  [Tyrwhitt]  of  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales, 
1775,  observes  that  H.  Stephens  informs  us  that  nice  was  the  old  French  word  for 
niaisy  one  of  the  synonyms  of  sot. 

Del.  Compare,  in  this  same  sense,  '  How  nice  the  quarrel  was,*  HI,  i,  1 50.  \Sta 
Coll.  (ed.  2). 

White.  To  be  nice  is  to  be  particular  in  small  things. 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  269 

Fri.  L.     Now  must  I  to  the  monument  alone ; 
Within  this  three  hours  will  fair  Juliet  wake :  25 

She  will  beshrew  me  much  that  Romeo 
Hath  had  no  notice  of  these  accidents ; 
But  I  will  write  again  to  Mantua, 
And  keep  her  at  my  cell  till  Romeo  come : 
Poor  living  corse,  closed  in  a  dead  man's  tomb !  \Exit. 


Scene  III.     A  churchyard ;  m  it  a  monument  belonging  to  the 

Capulets. 

Enter  PARIS  and  his  Page,  bearing  flowers  and  a  torch. 

Par.     Give  me  thy  torch,  boy:  hence,  and  stand  aloof: — 
Yet  put  it  out,  for  I  would  not  be  seen. 
Under  yond  yew-trees  lay  thee  all  along, 

25.     this'\  these  Q^,  Pope,  &c.  Capell.  and  his  Page,  with  a  Light.  Rowe.  Ulr. 

Scene  ni.]  Rowe.  follows  (QJ. 

A    churchyard;...]    A    Church-  I,     aloof '\  F^.     aloofe  Q(\.     aloft  Y^ 

yard,  in  it,  a  noble  Monument...  Rowe.  F^F^. 

cm.  QqFf.  2.     [Boy  puts  out  the  torch]  Capell. 

Enter...]  Capell,  substantially.    Enter  3.    yond  yew-trees'\'?o^^,{xoxpL  {f^^, 

Paris  and  his  Page.  QqFf.     Enter  Paris  yond  young  trees  QqFf,  Rowe. 

A  churchyard,  &c.]  Hunter.    It  is  clear  that  Sh.,  or  some  writer  whom  he 

followed,  had  in  mind  the  churchyard  of  Saint  Mary  the  Old  in  Verona,  and  tha 

monument  of  the  Scaligers  which  stood  in  it.     We  have  nothing  in  England  whicl 

corresponds  to  this  scene,  and  no  monument  or  vault  in  which  scenes  such  as  this 

could  be  exhibited.     Coryat,  who  could  often  be  worse  spared  than  a  better  man, 

writes  thus  : 

'  I  saw  the  monuments  of  two  of  the  noble  Scaligers  of  Verona  in  a  little  churchyard  adjoining  to  the 
church  called  Maria  Antiqua ;  the  fairest  whereof  is  that  of  Mastinus  Scaliger,  standing  at  one  comer 
of  the  churchyard,  which  is  such  an  exceeding  sumptuous  mausoleum  that  I  saw  not  the  like  in  Italy. 
The  other  monument  is  that  of  Canis  Grandi,  or  Magnus  Scaliger,  which  stood  within  another  comer 
of  the  same  churchyard,  right  opposite  unto  this.' — Crudities,  vol.  ii,  p.  114. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).  The  Lovers  are  said  to  have  been  buried  in  the  Sotterraneo  of 
Fermo  Maggiore,  belonging  to  an  order  of  Franciscans.  The  monastery  was  burnt 
down  some  years  since,  and  a  sarcophagus,  said  to  be  that  of  Juliet,  was  removed 
from  the  ruins,  and  is  still  shown  at  Verona.     [  White. 

and  a  torch]  Ulr.  I  cannot  see  why  the  stage-direcfons  of  (Q,),  not  only  here 
but  elsewhere,  should  give  place  to  the  fabrications  of  thi  later  editors. 

Del.  Paris  expressly  says,  in  line  14,  that  he  '  dews'  her  grave  ♦  with  sweet 
water.' 

3.  yond  yew-trees]   Coll.  (ed.  i).   Balthasar  afterwards  speaks  of  a  ^ young 
tree'  in  the  churchyard,  but  probably  we  ought  again  to  read  _y«£/-tree.     Sh-  would 
hardly  have  written  yond'  young. 
23  • 


270 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[ACT  V,  SC.  lil 


Holding  thine  ear  close  to  the  hollow  ground; 

So  shall  no  foot  upon  the  churchyard  tread,  5 

Being  loose,  unfirm,  with  digging  up  of  graves, 

But  thou  shalt  hear  it :  whistle  then  to  me, 

As  signal  that  thou  hear'st  something  approach. 

Give  me  those  flowers.     Do  as  I  bid  thee,  go. 

Pctgc.  \Aside\     I  am  almost  afraid  to  stand  alone  10 

Here  in  the  churchyard;  yet  I  will  adventure.  [Retires. 

Par.     Sweet  flower,  with  flowers  thy  bridal  bed  I  strew. 
O  woe !  thy  canopy  is  dust  and  stones. 


4.  Holding  thine']  Capell.  Holding 
thy  QqFjFj.  Laying  thy  F  F^,  Rovve, 
&c. 

8.  hear'st]  Rowe  (ed.  2)*.  hearest 
QqFf,  Rowe,  Sta. 

10.  [Aside]  Capell,  Dyce,  Clarke, 
Camhr.  om.  QqFf,  Rowe,  iS:c.  Var.  et 
cet. 

stand    alone]    stand   along    F,. 
Stay  alone  Coll.  (ed."2)  (MS.),  Ulr. 


11.  [Retires.]   Capell.      Exit.   F,Fj 
F^.    om.  QqF,. 

12.  [going  up  to  the  Tomb.  Capell. 
12,13.    strew stones,]  CM.    strrw: 

...sto7ies,  QqFf,  Rowe,  Kiit.  Cham. 
strew  .-...stones  I  Capell,  Dyce.  strew; 
...stones,  Sing.  (ed.  2).  stre^v, — ( O  woe, 
....stones!)  Sta.  Clarke.  strew, — .... 
stones  ; — Cambr. 

[Strewing  flowers.]  Pope,  &c. 

13-17.     See  note  infra. 


Coll.  (ed.  2).  In  both  places  the  (MS.)  has  'yew'  ior  young.  The  blunder 
arose,  doubtless,  from  'yew'  having  been  s'ptit yough  in  the  old  MSS. 

Ulr.  That  Balthasar  afterwards  mentions  a  '  young  tree,'  under  which  he  fell 
asleep,  is  no  proof  that  we  should  read  young  tree  here  also ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
proves  the  reverse,  since  it  is  much  more  probable  that  Sh.  would  have  given  a  dif- 
ferent character  to  the  different  trees  under  which  the  Page  and  Balthasar  reclined. 

Ktly.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  yew  was  the  poet's  word.  It  is  not  so  easy 
to  decide  between  tree  and  trees  ;  but  I  prefer  the  former. 

8.  something]  S.  Walker  {'Crit.,^  vol.  i,  p.  223).  To  one  that  reads  the  play 
continuously  it  is  evident  that  the  ear  demands  'some-//««^.' 

10.  stand  alone]  Coll.  {'jVotes  and  Emend.^).  Paris  has  expressly  ordered  the 
Page  to  lie  down,  with  his  ear  to  the  ground,  that  he  might  listen ;  therefore  the 
alteration  of  the  (MS.)  seems  proper,  and  is,  doubtless,  what  Sh.  wrote.     [  Ulr. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  That  is,  remain;  which  I  notice  because  Collier  now  prints,  with 
his  (MS.),  'stay.' 

12.  bed  I  strew]  Sta.  By  the  modem  punctuation  of  this  passage,  Paris  is 
made  to  promise  that  he  will  nightly  water,  not  the  flowers,  but  the  canopy  of  Juliet'? 
•  bridal  bed' ! 

13-17.  O  woe  !  .  .  .  weep]  Cambr.  Instead  of  these  five  lines.  Pope  inserts  the 
four  following,  from  (Q,) : 

'  Fair  yuliet,  that  with  angels  dost  remain, 
Accept  this  latest  favour  at  my  hand. 
That  living  honour'd  thee,  and  being  dead 
With  fijn'ra]  obsequies  adom  thy  tomb.' 

For  line*  12   17,  Steevens  (1773)  substituted  the  corresponding  lines  of  (Q,),  excetn 


ACT  V,  SC.  lii.j 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET, 


271 


Which  with  sweet  water  nightly  I  will  dew, 

Or,  wanting  that,  with  tears  distill'd  by  moans:  15 

The  obsequies  that  I  for  thee  will  keep 
Nightly  shall  be  to  strew  thy  grave  and  weep. 

\The  Page  whistles. 
The  boy  gives  warning  something  doth  approach. 
What  cursed  foot  wanders  this  way  to-night, 
To  cross  my  obsequies  and  true-love's  rite  ?  20 

What,  with  a  torch ! — Muffle  me,  night,  awhile.  {Retires. 


Enter  Romeo  and  Balthasar,  with  a  torch,  mattock,  &'c. 

Rom.     Give  me  that  mattock  and  the  wrenching  iron. 
Hold,  take  this  letter;  early  in  the  morning 
See  thou  deliver  it  to  my  lord  and  father. 
Give  me  the  light :  upon  thy  life,  I  charge  thee, 
Whate'er  thou  hear'st  or  seest,  stand  all  aloof. 
And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 
Why  I  descend  into  this  bed  of  death 
Is  partly  to  behold  my  lady's  face. 


25 


17.  [The  Page  whistles.]  The  Boy 
whistles.  Rowe,  &c.  Wliistle  Boy.  QqFf. 

18.  warning]  warning,  (Q,)QqFf, 
&c.  Capell,  Var.  (Corn.)  Knt. 
Sta.    Ktly.      warning;    Steev. 


Rowe, 
Huds. 

(1773) 
19. 
20. 

Rowe. 


way]  wayes  Fj. 

rite]  Pope  (ed.  2).    right  QqFf, 
rites  (QJ  Pope  (ed.  i),  Capell, 


Var.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

21.     Muffle  me,  night, ]'RovfQ.  muffle 


me  night  Q^Q^Q^Ff.    night  muffle  me  ^) . 

[Retires.]  Capell.    om.  QqFf. 

Enter...]  Mai.  from  Theob.  and  Ca- 
pell. Enter  Romeo,  and  Peter.  Q^QjFf, 
Rowe,  Pope  [with  a  light].  Enter  Ro- 
meo and  Balthazer  his  man.  Q.Q-.  Ulr. 
follows  (QJ. 

22.     Scene  iv.  Pope. 
that]  the  Q,q,Q,. 

26.     hear'st]  hearest  Q^Q^Q^. 


that  he  follows  Pope  in  reading  '  hand'  for  '  hands'  [and  '  doth  adorn'  for  doo  adorne. 
These  two  deviations  from  (QJ  Steevens  corrected  in  his  next  (1778)  and  subsequent 
editions,  and  is  followed  by  Mal.  (1821),  Har.  Sing.  (ed.  i).  Camp.  Haz.  Ed.] 

20.  rite]  Del.    The  reading  of  (QJ  fails  to  convey  the  meaning. 

21.  muffle]  Steev.  Thus  in  Drayton's  Polyolbion :  'But  suddenly  the  clouds, 
which  on  the  winds  do  fly,  Do  muffle  him  againe.'  Muffle  was  not  become  a  low 
[' unpoetical,'  SiNG.  (ed.  i)]  word  even  in  the  time  of  Milton,  as  the  Elder  Brother 
in  Comus  uses  it :  •  Unmuffle,  ye  faint  stars,'  &c.  A  muffler  was  a  part  of  female 
dress.      S^Sing. 

Dyce.  A  muffler  is  a  sort  of  wrapper  worn  by  women,  which  generally  covered 
the  mouth  and  chin,  but  sometimes  almost  the  whole  face. 

22.  Balthasar]  Coll.  Possibly  Kemp  doubled  his  part,  and  acted  both  Peter 
Mid  Balthasar,  as  both  were  short,  and  hence  the  confusion.     [  Ulr.  Del.  White. 


272  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iil 

But  chiefly  to  take  thence  from  her  dead  finger  30 

A  precious  ring,  a  ring  that  I  must  use 

In  dear  employment :  therefore  hence,  be  gone  : 

32.  dear  employment]  Johnson.    That  is,  action  of  importance.     [Sing. 

Steev.  Ben  Jonson  uses  the  word  dear  in  the  same  sense  in  Catiline,  Act  1 1 
•  Put  your  known  talents  on  so  dear  a  business.'     {^Sing. 

Singer  [Note  on  Twelfth  Night,  V,  i,  74 :  '  in  terms  so  bloody  and  so  dear^'\. 
Tooke  has  so  admirably  accounted  for  the  epithet  t/^ar  applied  by  our  ancient  writers 
to  any  object  which  excites  a  sensation  of  hurt,  tain,  and  consequently  of  anxiety', 
solicitude,  care,  earnestness,  that  I  shall  extract  it  as  the  best  comment  upon  the 
apparently  opposite  uses  of  the  word  in  our  great  poet :  'Dearth  is  the  third  person 
singular  of  the  English  (from  the  Anglo-Saxon  verb  Derian,  nocere,  laedere),  to 
dere.  It  means  some  or  any  season,  weather,  or  other  cause,  which  dereth,  i.  e., 
maketh  dear,  hurteth,  or  doth  mischief.  The  English  verb  to  dere  was  formerly  in 
common  use.'  He  then  produces  about  twenty  examples,  the  last  from  Hamlet 
[I,  ii,  182]  :  'Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven,'  &c.  Tooke  continues: 
'Johnson  and  Malone,  who  trusted  to  their  Latin  to  explain  his  (Sh.'s)  English,  for 
deer  and  deerest  would  have  us  read  dire  and  direst ;  not  knowing  that  Dere  and 
Deriend  mean  hurt  and  hurting,  mischief  SinA  mischievous ;  and  that  their  Latin 
dirus  is  from  our  Anglo-Saxon  Dere,  which  they  would  expunge.' — Epea  Pteroenta, 
vol.  ii,  p.  409.  A  most  pertinent  illustration  of  Tooke's  etymology  has  occurred  t» 
me  in  a  MS.  poem  by  Richard  Rolle  the  Hermit  of  Hampole : 

*  Bot  flatering  lele  and  loselry, 
Is  grete  chef>e  in  thair  courtes  namly, 
The  most  dtrthe  of  any,  that  is 
Aboute  tham  there,  is  sothfastnes.' — Spec.  Vitm. 

Dyce  [quotes  the  foregoing  and  adds]  :  See,  too,  Richardson's  Diet.,  where 
Tooke's  explanation  of  dear  is  given  as  the  true  one. 

Caldecott  [Note  on  'my  dearest  foe,'  Hamlet  I,  ii,  182].  Throughout  Sh.,  and 
all  the  poets  of  his  and  a  much  later  day,  we  find  this  epithet  applied  to  the  person 
or  thing  which,  for  or  against  us,  excites  the  liveliest  and  strongest  interest.  It  is 
used  variously,  indefinitely,  and  metaphorically  to  express  the  warmest  feelings  of  the 
soul ;  its  nearest,  most  intimate,  home  and  heart-felt  emotions  :  and  here,  no  doubt, 
though,  as  everywhere  else,  more  directly  interpreted,  signifying  '  veriest,  extremest,' 
must  by  consequence  and  figuratively  import  '  bitterest,  deadliest,  most  mortal.'  As 
extremes  are  said,  in  a  certain  sense,  to  approximate,  and  are  in  many  respects  alike 
or  the  same,  so  this  word  is  made,  in  a  certain  sense,  to  carry  with  it  an  union  of 
the  fiercest  opposites  :  it  is  made  to  signify  the  extremes  of  love  and  hatred.  It  may 
be  said  to  be  equivalent  generally  to  very,  and  to  import  '  the  excess,  the  utmost,  the 
superlative'  of  that,  whatever  it  may  be,  to  which  it  is  applied.  But  to  suppose,  with 
Tooke  {Divers,  of  Purley,  ii,  409),  that  in  all  cases  dear  must  at  that  time  have 
meant '  injurious,'  as  being  derived  from  the  Saxon  verb  dere,  to  hurt,  is  perfectly 
absurd.  Dr.  Johnson's  derivation  of  the  word,  as  used  in  this  place,  from  the  Latin 
dirus,  is  doubtless  ridiculous  enough ;  but  Tooke  has  not  produced  a  single  instance 
of  it,  i.  e.,  of  the  adjective,  in  the  sense  upon  which  he  insists,  except,  as  he  pre- 
tends, from  our  author,  &c.     \_Dyce. 

Cra!K  \^The  English  of  Sh.'  p.  237 :  '  Shall  it  not  grieve  thee,  dearer  than  thy 
death?'— Jul.  Cx%.,  Ill,  i,  196].    Home  Tooke  {'Div.  of  Purley:  612,  &c.)  make» 


ACTV,  sc.  ui.J  ROMEO    AND    JULIET.  273 

But  if  thou,  jealous,  dost  return  to  pry- 
In  what  I  farther  shall  intend  to  do, 

By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint  35 

And  strew  this  hungry  churchyard  with  thy  limbs : 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage-wild, 
More  fierce  and  more  inexorable  far 
Than  empty  tigers  or  the  roaring  sea. 

Bal.     I  will  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you.  40 

Rom.     So  shalt  thou  show  me  friendship.     Take  thou  that : 

34.     farther]  Qq,  Coll.  Ulr.  White,  40,  43.     Bait,  or   Bal.]   Q^Q^.     Pet. 

Hal.  Clarke,  Cambr.  further  Ff,  Rowe,  The  rest.  Rowe,  Pope. 

&c.  Capell,  Var.  et  cet.  40.    ycn*\  ye  Q,. 

37.     savage-wild]     Hjrphen,     Steev.  41.     sh<nv  me  friendship]  win  my  fa- 

savage,  wild  Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Coll.  Ulr.  vour  (QJ  Pope,  Han. 
White,  Hal. 

a  plausible  case  in  favour  of  dear  being  derived  from  the  ancient  verb  derian,  to 
hurt,  to  annoy,  and  of  its  proper  meaning  being,  therefore,  injurious  or  hateful. 
His  notion  seems  to  be  that  from  this  derian  we  have  dearth,  meaning  properly  that 
sort  of  injury  that  is  done  by  the  weather,  and  that,  a  usual  consequence  of  dearth 
being  to  make  the  produce  of  the  earth  high-priced,  the  adjective  dear  has  thence 
taken  its  common  meaning  of  precious.  This  is  not  all  distinctly  asserted,  but 
what  of  it  may  not  be  explicitly  set  forth  is  supposed  and  implied.  It  is,  however, 
against  an  explanation  which  has  been  generally  accepted,  that  there  is  no  appear- 
ance of  connection  between  derian  and  the  contemporary  word  answering  to  dear 
in  the  sense  of  high-priced,  precious,  beloved,  which  is  deore,  dure,  or  dyre,  and  is 
evidently  from  the  same  root,  not  with  derian,  but  with  deoran  or  dyran,  to  hold 
dear,  to  love.  There  is  no  doubt  about  the  existence  of  an  old  English  verb  dere, 
meaning  to  hurt,  the  unquestionable  representative  of  the  original  derian.  Thus  in 
Chaucer  (C  T.  1824),  Theseus  says  to  Palamon  and  Arcite,  in  the  Knight's  Tale: 

'  And  ye  shul  bothe  anon  unto  me  swere 
That  never  mo  ye  shul  my  contree  dere, 
Ne  maken  werre  upon  rae  night  oe  day. 
But  ben  my  frendes  in  alle  that  ye  may.' 

But  perhaps  we  can  get  most  easily  and  naturally  at  the  sense  which  dear  sometimes 
assumes  by  supposing  that  the  notion  properly  involved  in  it  of  love,  having  first 
become  generalized  into  that  of  a  strong  affection  of  any  kind,  had  thence  passed 
on  into  that  of  such  an  emotion  the  very  reverse  of  love.  We  seem  to  have  it  in 
the  intermediate  sense  in  such  instances  as  the  following : 

'  Some  dear  cause 
Will  in  concealment  wrap  me  up  awhile.' — Lear,  IV,  iii,  53. 

[The  present  line  cited.]     And  even  when  Hamlet  speaks  of  his  ^dearest  foe,'  or 
when  Celia  remarks  to  Rosalind,  in  As  You  Like  It,  I,  iii,  31,  '  My  father  hated  his 
[Orlando's]  father  dearly^  the  word  need  not  be  understood  as  implying  more  than 
strong  or  passionate  emotion.     \^Ih/ce. 
33.  jealous]  Sta.   i.  <?.,  suspici  us. 

S 


2  74  FOMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  m 

Live,  and  be  prosperous :  and  farewell,  good  fellow. 

Bal.  \Asidc\     For  all  this  same,  I'll  hide  me  hereabout : 
His  looks  I  fear,  and  his  intents  I  doubt,  \Rctires. 

Row.     Thou  detestable  maw,  thou  womb  of  death,  45 

Gorged  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth. 
Thus  I  enforce  thy  rotten  jaws  to  open, 

\_Brcaking  open  the  Door  of  the  Monument. 
And  in  despite  I'll  cram  thee  with  more  food. 

Par.     This  is  that  banish'd  haughty  Montague 
That  murder'd  my  love's  cousin,  with  which  grief,  50 

It  is  supposed,  the  fair  creature  died, 
And  here  is  come  to  do  some  villanous  shame 
To  the  dead  bodies  :  I  will  apprehend  him. —      \_Comes  foi-ward. 
Stop  thy  unhallow'd  toil,  vile  Montague ! 

Can  vengeance  be  pursued  further  than  death  ?  55 

Condemned  villain,  I  do  apprehend  thee : 
Obey,  and  go  with  me ;  for  thou  must  die. 

Rom.     I  must  indeed,  and  therefore  came  I  hither. 

43.     [Aside]  Capell,  Dyce,  Cambr.  the  tomb.  Cambr.,  after  line  48. 

45.     detestablf  maw']  maw  detestable  48.     despite]  requite  Ktly.  conj. 

Han.  53.     [Comes...]    Draws,  and    rushes 

[fixing  his  Mattock  in  the  Tomb.  forward.    Capell,   after   line    54.      om. 

Capell.  QqFf. 

47.     [Breakinjj....]     Rowe,    substan-  54.     unhallow'd]  Pope,     unhallowed 

tially.      Tomb   opens.   Capell.     Opens  Q^lFf. 

45.  detestable]  Steev.  This  word,  which  is  now  accented  on  the  second  sylla- 
ble, was  once  accented  on  the  first;  therefore  this  line  was  not  originally  unharmo- 
nious.      \^Sing.  Verp. 

Mal.  In  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  b,  I,  c.  i,  st.  26 :  •  That  ditestable  sight  him 
much  amaz'd.'     \^Sing. 

Verp.    So  in  King  John,  III,  iv,  29,  and  in  Paris's  lamentation,  IV,  v,  56. 

Ulr.  This  may  also  have  been  the  case  in  other  instances  where  Sh.  has  been 
accused  of  inharmonious  rhythm. 

47.  Stage-direction]  Malone  {'Hist,  of  English  Stage,'  p.  90).  Though  un- 
doubtedly Sh.'s  company  were  furnished  with  some  wooden  fabrick  sufficiently  re- 
sembling a  tomb,  for  which  they  must  have  had  occasion  in  several  plays,  yet  some 
doubt  may  be  entertained  whether  any  exhibition  of  Juliet's  monument  was  given 
on  the  stage.  Romeo,  perhaps,  only  opened  with  his  mattock  one  of  the  stage  trap- 
doors (which  might  have  represented  a  tomb-stone),  by  which  he  descended  to  a 
rault  beneath  the  stage,  where  Juliet  was  deposited.  Juliet,  however,  after  her  re- 
covery, speaks  and  dies  upon  the  stage.  If,  therefore,  the  exhibition  was  such  as  1 
have  supposed,  Romeo  must  have  brought  her  up  in  his  arms  from  the  vault  benealb 
ihe  stage,  af  er  he  had  killed  Paris. 


HCT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  275 

Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a  desperate  man ; 
Fly  hence  and  leave  me :  think  upon  these  gone ;  60 

Let  them  affright  thee.     I  beseech  thee,  youth. 
Put  not  another  sin  upon  my  head, 
By  urging  me  to  fury :  O,  be  gone  ! 
By  heaven,  I  love  thee  better  than  myself. 

For  I  come  hither  arm'd  against  myself:  65 

Stay  not,  be  gone :  live,  and  hereafter  say, 
A  madman's  mercy  bade  thee  run  away. 
Par.     I  do  defy  thy  conjurations 

59.  Good  gentli\    Go,  gentle  Anon.         Cambr. 

conj.*  68.     thy\  om.  Coll.  (ed.  2)  MS. 

60.  these'l    those    Ff,    Rowe,   Pope,  conjurations']    (Q,)   Mai.      com 
Han.                                                                        miration  Q^.   commisseration  Q^Fj.   com- 

62.     Put]   Pull   Rowe,  &c.     Pluck  ww^rfl/io«  Q^F^Q^F^F^,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt. 

Capell    conj.      Heap    (QJ    Mai.   Var.  Coll.  Ulr.  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.)    conjura- 

Huds.  Sta.  tion    Capell.      commination    Mommsen 

67.  bade]    bad   Q^.     bid  The   rest,  conj. 

59.  Good  gentle  youth]  Coleridge  ('ZtV.  Rem.''  vol.  ii,  p.  158).  The  gentle- 
ness of  Romeo  was  shown  before  as  softened  by  love,  and  now  it  is  doubled  by  love 
and  sorrow,  and  awe  of  the  place  where  he  is.     [  Verp. 

68.  conjurations]  Steev.    Paris  conceived  Romeo  to  have  burst  open  the  monu 
ment  for  no  purpose  but  to  do  some  villainous  shame  on  the  dead  bodies,  such  as 
witches  are  reported  to  have  practised ;  and  therefore  tells  him  he  defies  him  and  his 

magic  arts.     So  in  Painter,  tom.  ii,  p.  244 :  ' the  watch  of  the  city  by  chance 

passed  by,  and,  seeing  a  light  within  the  grave,  suspected  straight  that  they  were 
necromancers,  which  had  opened  the  tomb  to  abuse  the  dead  bodies  for  aide  of  their 
arte.' 

Mal.  The  obvious  interpretation  of  these  words, '/  refuse  to  do  as  thou  conjurest 
me  to  do — i.  e.,  to  depart,'  is,  in  my  apprehension,  the  true  one.     [Sing. 

Sing.  So  Constance,  in  King  John,  III,  iv,  23:  'No,  I  defy  all  counsel,  all 
redress.' 

Coll.  (ed.  i).   The  sense  of  'commiseration'  is  clear;  not  so  of  conjurations. 

Ulr.  [Commiseration  of  Collier's  (MS.)]  refers  simply  and  naturally  to  the 
« mercy'  which  immediately  precedes  it  in  Romeo's  speech. 

Del.  This  word  is  perfectly  intelligible ;  Romeo  repeatedly  conjured  Paris  not  to 
provoke  him,  but  to  depart. 

Huds.  Conjurations  are  earnest  requests  or  entreaties.  The  verb  conjure  is  still 
much  used  in  the  same  sense.  Collier,  however,  retains  the  later  reading,  alleging 
[as  above].  What  can  the  man  mean?  Conjurations  is  just  the  word  wanted  for 
the  place. 

Dyce  (^Remarks').  'Commiseration'  besides  violating  the  metre,  is  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  ludicrous.  It  is  a  stark  misprint ;  and  the  progress  of  the  corruption  is 
plain  enough.  The  Q,  having  '  commiration'  (an  error  for  '  coniuration,' — the  editor 
of  that  Q  perhaps  preferring  the  word  in  the  singular),  'he  said  vox  nihili  was 
altered  in  subsequent  editions  to  '  commiseration.'     ['  So  in  Hamlet,  pelican,  not 


276  ROMEO   AND    JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iU. 

And  apprehend  thee  for  a  felon  here. 

Roin.     Wilt  thou  provoke  me  ?  then  have  at  thee,  boy !         70 

\They  fight 

69.     apprehend'^  doe  attach  {Cl^^Tis.  70.     [They  fight.]  (Q,).    They  Fight, 

Sing.  Ktly.  Paris  falls.  Rowe,  &c.    om.  QqFf. 

being  understood  by  the  printer,  has  been  changed  into  politician  !' — MS.  marginal 
note  by  Mr.  W.  N.  Lettsom,  in  the  present  editor's  copy  of  Dyce's  Remarks,'\ 
With  respect  to  '  the  sense  of  conjurations!  which  Collier  thinks  is  '  not  clear,' — 
surely,  in  the  speech,  to  which  the  present  one  is  an  answer,  Romeo  had  sufficiently 
conjured  Paris  when  he  said:  [lines  59-63].  As  the  commentators,  though  they 
observe  that  '  defy'  means  '  reject,  refuse  to  comply  with,'  give  no  example  of  '  con- 
juration' in  the  sense  of '  earnest  entreaty  (which  it  often  bore)  I  subjoin  the  follow 

ing  passage : — 

'  Queen,  but  [I]  intreat,  my  sonne, 

Gloster  may  dye  for  this  that  he  hath  done. 
•  •  •  • 

Hen.     Haue  I  not  swome  by  that  etemall  arme 

That  puts  iust  vengance  sword  in  Monarks  hands, 

Gloster  shall  die  for  his  presumption  ? 

What  needs  more  coniuration,  gratious  Mother,'  &c. 

A  Pleasant  Cotnmodie,  called  Leoke  about  you,  xtoo,  sig.  u,  3. 

DvcE  {^Few  Notes').  It  may  not  be  useless  to  notice  here  that  the  word  occurs  in 
the  same  sense  in  a  once-admired  modern  novel :  '  The  arguments,  or  rather  the 
conjurations,  of  which  I  have  made  use,'  &c. — Mrs.  Sheridan's  Sidney  Bidulph, 
vol.  V,  p.  74. 

White  i^^Sh.  Scholar^  1854,  p.  388).  This  argument  and  citing  of  instances 
from  ancient  authors  seems  odd  enough  to  Americans.  It  is  almost  as  common  in 
America,  and  has  always  been,  to  say  *  I  conjure  you'  to  do  thus  or  so,  as  '  I  entreat 
you ;'  especially  when  the  person  addressed  is  earnestly  entreated  to  do  something 
for  his  own  welfare,  which  is  the  case  in  the  present  instance. 

Sta.  The  meaning  may  be  simply,  '  I  contemn  your  entreaties,'  or,  as  he  sus 
pected  Romeo  had  come  to  do  some  shame  (0  the  dead  bodies,  he  might  use  conjura 
tions  in  its  ordinary  sense  of  supernatural  arts,  and  mean  that  he  defied  his  necro 
mantic  charms  and  influence. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  The  (MS.)  has 'thy'  erased  in  this  line  as  redundant  for  the 
metre.  .  .  .  The  error  originated  with  the  old  printer  of  the  (Q,),  who  committed  so 
many  other  and  such  gross  mistakes,  and  who,  not  being  well  acquainted  with  the 
word  '  commiseration'  (written  no  doubt  in  his  day  with  one  m — comiseration),  com- 
posed coniurations  instead  of  it.  All  the  probabilities  are  in  favour  of  '  commisera- 
tion ;'  and  although  conjurations  would  answer  the  purpose,  '  commiseration'  fills 
the  place  better.  We  can  have  no  other  ground  of  preference  for  one  word  over  the 
other. 

Dyce  (ed.  2)  quotes  with  approval  Malone's  paraphrase. 

White.  A  sort  of  sense  was  made  of  commirations  by  changing  it  to  *  com^ 
miseration.' 

Halliwell.  Compare  the  following  in  Sir  P.  Sydney's  Arcadia  :  ' How 

greate  soever  my  busines  be,  faire  Ladie  (said  hee),  it  shall  willinglie  yeeld  to  so 
noble  a  cause :  But  first,  even  by  the  favour  you  beare  to  the  Lorde  of  this  noble 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  277 

Page,     O  Lord,  they  fight !  I  will  go  call  the  watch.         \Exit. 

Par.     O,  I  am  slain ! — \_Falls'^     If  thou  be  merciful, 
Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  \Dies. 

Roin.     In  faith,  I  will. — Let  me  peruse  this  face : 
Mercutio's  kinsman,  noble  County  Paris  !  71; 

What  said  my  man,  when  my  betossed  soul 
Did  not  attend  him  as  we  rode  ?     I  think 
He  told  me  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet : 
Said  he  not  so  ?  or  did  I  dream  it  so  ? 

Or  am  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet,  80 

To  think  it  was  so  ? — O,  give  me  thy  hand. 
One  writ  with  me  in  sour  misfortune's  book ! 
I'll  bury  thee  in  a  triumphant  grave  ; — 
A  grave  ?     O,  no,  a  lantern,  slaughter'd  youth ; 
For  here  lies  Juliet,  and  her  beauty  makes  85 

71.  Page.]  Q^Qg.  om.  Q^Q^.  Pet.  face:— In  faith  I  will;—  Seymour 
Ff.     Page  [without,  Han.  conj. 

O... watch.']  Italics  in  Q^Qj.  [holds  the  torch  to  it.]  CapeH 

[Exit.]  Capell.     om.  QqFf.  81.     hand,']  hand!  Momm. 

72.  [Falls.]  Capell.     om.  QqFf.  [He  takes  it]  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

73.  [Dies.]  Theob.    om.  QqFf.  82.     book ./]  Capell.     book,  Q^F^FjF^. 

74.  In.,  face :]    Let  me  peruse  this  book.  Qfi^Q,Y^.     book  Momm. 

armour,  I  conjure  you  to  tell  me  the  storie  of  your  fortune  herein,  least  hereafter, 
when  the  image  of  so  excellent  a  ladie  in  so  strange  a  plight  come  before  mine  eies, 
I  condemne  myself  of  want  of  consideration  in  not  having  demanded  thus  much.  .  .  . 
Your  conjuration,  fayre  Knight  (said  she),  is  too  strong  for  my  poor  spirit  to  dis- 
obeye,'  &c. 

71.  O  Lord  .  .  .  watch]  Mommsen.  The  italics  of  QjQj  show  that  these  lincb 
were  spoken  behind  the  scenes. 

84.  a  lantern]  Steev.  This  may  not  here  signify  an  enclosure  for  a  lighted 
candle,  but  a  louvre,  or  what  in  ancient  records  is  styled  lanternium,  i.  e.  a  spa- 
cious round  or  octagonal  turret  full  of  windows,  by  means  of  which  cathedrals,  and 
sometimes  halls,  are  illuminated.  See  the  beautiful  lantern  at  Ely  Minster.  \_Sta. 
Dyce.]  The  same  word,  in  the  same  sense,  occurs  in  Churchyard's  Siege  of  Edin- 
brough  Castle :  '  This  lofty  seat  and  lantern  of  that  land.'    Again  in  Holland's  trans. 

Pliny's  Natural  History,  b.  35,  chap.  12:  ' hence  came  the  louvers  and  Ian- 

temes  reared  over  the  roofes  of  temples,'  &c.     \_Sing.  Verp.  Hiids. 

White.  In  the  ancient  kitchens  and  halls  the  louvre  was  the  only  exit  for  the 
smoke  and  heated  air  of  the  apartment.  See  the  following  passage  from  the  old 
romance,  Thomas  of  Heading:  '  And  with  that  he  caused  his  Men  to  take  him  pres- 
ently, and  to  bind  him  Hand  and  Foot.  Which  being  done,  they  drew  him  vp  in  a 
Basket  into  the  Smoky  Louer  of  the  Hall,  and  there  did  let  him  hang,  &c.  And  in 
such  a  heate  was  hee  driuen  with  drawing  him  vp,  that  he  was  faine  to  cast  off  his 
Gownes,  his  Coates  and  two  paire  of  his  Stockings,'  &c. — Sig.  F,  ed.  1632. 
24 


278  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iiL 

This  vault  a  feasting  presence  full  of  light. 
Death,  lie  thou  there,  by  a  dead  man  interr'd. — 

\Layi7ig  Paris  in  the  monument. 

87.    Death']  Dead  Dyce  (ed.  2)  (Lett-  87.     lie]  be  F^F^. 

som  conj.).  [Laying...]  Theob.    om.  QqFf. 

86.  presence]  M.  Mason.  A  presence  means  a  public  room,  at  times  the  pres- 
ence-chamber of  the  sovereign.  \_Sing.  (ed.  i),  Verp,  Huds.]  So  in  The  Noble 
Gentleman,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Jacques  says  his  master  is  a  duke :  '  His 
chamber  hung  with  nobles  like  a  presence.'     \_Hal. 

Mal.  Again,  in  Westward  for  Smelts,  1620 :  ' the  king  sent  for  the  wounded 

man  intr  the  presence.^     \^Hal. 

SlKEV.  This  thought,  extravagant  as  it  is,  is  borrowed  by  Middleton  in  his  comedy 
of  Blurt  Master  Constable,  1602: 

'  The  darkest  dungeon  which  spite  can  devise 
To  throw  this  carcase  in,  her  glorious  eyes 
Can  make  as  lightsome  as  the  fairest  chamber 
In  Paris  Louvre.'  [Sing:  Verp. 

Nares.  The  state-room  in  a  palace,  where  the  sovereign  usually  appears.  Hence 
used  also  for  any  grand  state-room.     \^Sta. 

Hunter.  It  is  here  used  for  'presence-chamber,'  the  hall  of  audience,  the  most 
splendid  apartment  of  a  royal  palace.  '  The  next  chamber  within  it,  which  is  the 
presence,  very  fair.' — Cor}'at,  Crudities,  vol.  i,  p.  32.  A  longer  quotation  may  be 
excused  for  the  rareness  of  the  source  from  whence  it  comes,  and  the  curious  theatri- 
cal information  it  contains : — John  Chamberlayne,  writing  to  Sir  Dudley  Carleton, 
from  London,  January  5th,  1608,  says:  'The  Marquess  goes  forward  at  court  the 
twelfth  day,  though  I  doubt  the  new  room  will  be  scant  ready.  All  the  holidays 
there  were  Plays,  but  with  so  little  concourse  of  strangers  that  they  say  they  wanted 
company.  The  King  was  very  earnest  to  have  one  on  Christmas  Night,  though,  as 
I  take  It,  He  and  the  Prince  received  sacrament  that  day ;  but  the  Lords  told  him 
that  it  was  not  the  fashion,  which  answer  pleased  him  not  a  whit,  but  said,  "  What 
do  you  tell  me  of  the  fashion  ?  I  will  make  it  a  fashion."  Yesterday  he  dined  in 
the  Presence,  in  great  pomp,  with  his  rich  cupboards  of  plate,  the  one  of  gold,  the 
other  that  of  the  House  of  Burgundy,  pawned  to  Queen  Elizabeth  by  the  States  of 
Brabant,  and  hath  seldom  been  seen  abroad,  being  exceeding  massy,  fair,  and  sump- 
tuous. I  could  learn  no  reason  of  this  extraordinary  braverj',  but  that  he  would 
shew  himself  in  glory  to  certain  Scots  that  were  never  here  before,  as  they  sa)  there 
be  many  lately  come,  and  that  the  Court  is  full  of  new  and  strange  faces.' — From  a 
copy  of  the  Original  in  the  State  Paper  Office.  It  shows  us  something  of  the  splen- 
dour of  a  Presence  contrasting  with  the  dark  and  dismal  sepulchral  vault. 

Dyce.  I  find  that  Evelyn  in  his  Diary,  under  166S,  speaks  of  himself  as  'Standing 
by  his  Ma'y  [Charles  II]  at  dinner  in  the  Presence.^ 

87.  Death]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Surely  the  sense  demands  the  very  slight  alteration 
\^Dead''\  which  is  now  made,  and  which  I  owe  to  Mr.  \V.  N.  Lettsom,  who  observes 
that  'in  all  the  old  eds.,  "death"  occurs  at  the  end  of  the  next  line,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  third  line  after  this, — also  in  all  the  old  eds.,  except  (Q,)  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  fifth  line  after  this.'  On  the  words,  ^  by  a  dead  man  interr'd,^  Malone 
remarks  :  '  Romei  ^^ing  now  determined  to  put  an  end  to  his  life,  considers  himself 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  279 

How  oft  when  men  are  at  the  point  of  death 

Have  they  been  merry  !  which  their  keepers  call 

A  lightning  before  death:  O,  how  may  I  90 

Call  this  a  lightning  ? — O  my  love  !  my  wife  ! 

Death,  that  hath  suck'd  the  honey  of  thy  breath, 

Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy  beauty : 

90.     how\  now  ^o\vxi%.  conj.  92.     suck'd^  suck  F^. 

as  already  dead.'     (Capell  had  anticipated  Malone  in  remarking  that  Romeo  here 
means  himself. — Notes,  Sec,  vol.  ii,  P.  iv,  p.  21.) 

87.  by  a  dead  man]  Clarke.  This  fine  license  of  poetic  anticipation,  by  which 
Romeo,  resolved  to  die,  speaks  already  of  himself  as  '  a  dead  man,'  is  stigmatized  by 
Steevens  as  one  of  *  those  miserable  conceits  with  which  our  author  too  frequently 
counteracts  his  own  pathos.'  (!)  That  the  genuine  poet,  John  Keats,  thought  very 
differently  of  this  striking  idea  is  testified  by  his  having  introduced  its  twin  thought 
into  his  poem  of  '  Isabella,'  where  stanza  xxvii  begins : 

'  So  the  two  brothers  and  ikfir  tnurdtr'd  man 
Rode  past  fair  Florence,'  &c 

88,  120.  How  oft  ...  I  die]  Coleridge  ('ZtV.  Rem.^  vol.  ii,  p.  158).  Here, 
here,  is  the  master  example  how  beauty  can  at  once  increase  and  modify  passion. 

90.  A  lightning]  Steev.  This  idea  occurs  frequently  in  old  dramas.  So  in 
the  Second  Part  of  The  Downfall  of  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntington,  1601 :  '  I  thought 
it  was  a  lightening  before  death.''     [Sing.  Huds. 

Ulr.  The  commentators  have  wholly  misunderstood  this  passage.  Romeo  simply 
wishes  to  say  :  '  To  other  men  at  the  point  of  death  such  a  bright,  clear  moment  is 
often  granted ;  how  different  is  the  last  moment  that  is  granted  to  me !' 

Del.  Romeo  asks  himself  how  he  can  characterize  the  sight  which  the  now 
opened  tomb  discloses  as  such  a  lightening. 

90.  lightning  before  death]  N.-VRES.  A  proverbial  phrase,  partly  deduced  from 
observation  of  some  extraordinary  effort  of  nature,  often  made  in  sick  persons  just 
before  death ;  and  partly  from  a  superstitious  notion  of  an  ominous  and  preternatural 
mirth,  supposed  to  come  on  at  that  period,  without  any  ostensible  reason.     \_Dyce. 

Clarke.  The  mingling  here  of  words  and  images  full  of  light  and  colour  with 
the  murky  gray  of  the  sepulchral  vault  and  the  darkness  of  the  midnight  church- 
yard, the  blending  of  these  images  of  beauty  and  tenderness  with  the  deep  gloom 
of  the  speaker's  inmost  heart,  form  a  poetical  and  metaphysical  picture  unequalled 
in  its  kind. 

Cham.  We  may  note  Byron's  remark,  that  even  the  scaffold  echoes  with  jests : 
•  In  Sir  Thomas  More,  for  instance,  on  the  scaffold,  and  Anne  Boleyn  in  the  Tower, 
when  grasping  her  neck,  she  remarked  that  it  "  was  too  slender  to  trouble  the  heads- 
man much."  During  one  part  of  the  French  Revolution  it  became  a  fashion  to 
leave  some  mot  as  a  legacy ;  and  the  quantity  of  facetious  last  words  spoken  during 
that  period  would  form  a  melancholy  jest-book  of  a  considerable  size !' — Not!  to  TTu 
Corsair. 

93.  beauty]  Steev.  So  in  Sidney's  Arcadia,  b.  iii :  *  Death  being  able  to  divide 
the  soule,  but  not  the  beauty,  from  her  body.'     \_Sing.  Huds. 


2 So  ROMEO   AXD   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iiL 

Thou  art  not  conquer'd ;  beauty's  ensign  yet 

Is  crimson  in  thy  lips  and  in  thy  cheeks,  95 

And  death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there. — 

Tybalt,  liest  thou  there  in  thy  bloody  sheet  ? 

O,  what  more  favour  can  I  do  to  thee 

Than  with  that  hand  that  cut  thy  youth  in  twain 

To  sunder  his  that  was  thine  enemy?  lOO 

Forgive  me,  cousin  ! — Ah,  dear  Juliet, 

Why  art  thou  yet  so  fair  ?  shall  I  believe 

94.     art'\  are  F,F,.  /  will  beleeve.  Shall  I  beleeve  that  un- 

97.     lifst]  lyest  Qq.    ly'st  Ff,  Rowe,  substantiall  death  is  amorous  QqFf,  Coll. 

&c.  Capell.    /iV  White.  (ed.  i).    I  will  believe  That... .amoroux 

100.     ihine'l  thy  Ff,  Rowe,  &c.  Pope,  Ulr. 
102,  103.     shall. ...amorotis']    Theob. 

Mal.    So  in  Daniel's  Complaint  of  Rosamond,  1594: 

'  Decayed  roses  of  discolour'd  cheeks 
Do  yet  retain  some  notes  of  former  grace, 
And  ugly  death  sits  /aire  within  her /ace.'     [Sing.  Hudt. 

96.  death's  pale  flag]  Steev.    So  in  Daniel's  Complaint  of  Rosamond : 

'  And  nought-respecting  death  (the  last  of  paines) 
Plac'd  his  pale  colours  (th'  ensign  of  his  might) 
Upon  his  new-got  spoil,'  &c     [Sing.  Huds. 

Tyrwhitt.  An  ingenious  friend  some  time  ago  pointed  out  to  me  a  passage  of 
Marini  which  bears  a  very  strong  resemblance  to  this : 

'Morte  la  'nsegna  sua,  pallida  e  bianca, 
Vincitrice  spiegd  su'l  volto  tnio.' — 

Rime  lugubri,  p.  149,  edit  Venet  1605.     [Sing. 

Mal.    Daniel,  who  was  an  Italian  scholar,  may  have  borrowed  this  thought  from 
Manni. 
Sing.   Daniel  could  not  have  borrowed  it. 

97.  Tybalt,  liest  thou]  Boswell.   So  in  the  old  poem : 

'  Ah  cosin  dere,  Tybalt,  where  so  thy  restles  sprite  now  be. 
With  stretched  handes  to  thee  for  mercy  now  I  crj'e, 
For  that  before  thy  kindly  howTe  I  forced  thee  to  dye. 
But  if  with  quenched  lyfe  not  quenched  be  thine  yre. 
But  with  revengeing  lust  as  yet  thy  hart  be  set  on  fyre. 
What  more  amendes,  or  cruel)  wreke  desyrest  thou 
To  see  on  me,  then  this  which  here  is  shewd  forth  to  thee  now? 
Who  reft  by  force  of  armes  from  thee  thy  living  breath. 
The  same  with  his  owne  hand  (thou  seest)  doth  poison  himselfe  to  death.'    [Sta. 

loi.  Forgive  me,  cousin]  Clarke.  Inexpressibly  beautiful  and  moving  is  thi* 
gentleness  of  Romeo's  in  his  death  hour.  His  yearning  to  be  at  peace  with  his  foe, 
his  beseeching  pardon  of  him  and  calling  him  kinsman  in  token  of  final  atonement, 
his  forbearance  and  even  magnanimity  towards  Paris,  his  words  of  closing  consid- 
eration and  kindly  farewell  to  his  faithful  Balthasar,  all  combine  to  crown  Romeo  as 
the  prince  Df  youthful  gentlemen  and  lovers. 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  28 1 

That  unsubstantial  Death  is  amorous, 

And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 

Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  his  paramour?  105 

For  fear  of  that,  I  still  will  stay  with  thee. 

And  never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night 

Depart  again :  here,  here  will  I  remain 

107.    palace'\  pallat  Q^.  Cambr. 

io8.     Depart  again]    See    note   of  [throwing  himself  by  her.  Capell. 

102,  103.  shall  I  .  .  .  amorous]  Coll.  (ed.  i).  Romeo  first  asserts  that  he  will 
believe,  then  checks  himself  and  puts  it  interrogatively,  whether  he  shall  believe 
that  death  is  amorous  ? 

Dyce  l^Hemarks,  &c.,  p.  177].  Sh.  was  too  well  acquainted  with  the  workings 
of  the  human  mind  to  make  Romeo  'Jirst  assert  that  he  will  believe,'  and  then  put 
it  interrogatively ;  in  such  cases  the  question  precedes  the  determination. 

Sta.  The  old  copies  give  us  a  glimpse,  as  it  were,  of  the  author's  own  manuscript. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  In  our  former  edition  we  preserved  both,  being  anxious  not  to 
desert  the  ancient  authorities;  but  on  reconsideration  we  are  disposed  to  think 
Malone  right :  he  excluded  /  will  believe. 

Dyce.  These  are  evidently  varia  lecHones,  which,  by  some  mistake,  have  both 
crept  into  the  text. 

103.  Death  is  amorous]  Steev.  Burton,  in  his  Anatomie  of  Melancholy,  edit. 
1632,  p.  463,  speaking  of  the  power  of  beauty,  tells  us :  •  But  of  all  the  tales  in  this 
kinde,  that  is  most  memorable  of  Death  himselfe,  when  he  should  have  stroken  a 
sweet  young  virgin  with  his  dart,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  object.'  Burton  refers  to 
['  the  ''EpuToiralyvLov  of  SiNG.]  Angerianus,  but  I  have  met  the  same  story  in  some 
other  ancient  book  of  which  I  have  forgot  the  title.     \_Sing. 

Mal.   So  in  Daniel's  Complaint  of  Rosamond,  1594: 

'  Ah,  now,  inethinks,  I  see  death  dallying  seeks 
To  entertain  itselfe  in  love's  sweete  place.'    [,Stng.  Hudi. 

106.  I  Still  will]  Sta.  [Note  on  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  i,  136].  Still,  that  is,  always, 
ever.  This  signification  of  the  word  is  frequent  in  Sh.,  although  no  commentator, 
that  I  remember,  has  noticed  it. 

Abbott  ('5'^.'«  Grammar^  (ed.  3),  1870,  p.  69).  Still  is  used  for  constantly,  in 
accordance  with  the  derivation  of  the  word  '  quiet,' '  unmoved.'  It  is  now  used  only 
in  the  sense  of  '  even  now,'  *  even  then.'  The  connection  between  '  during  all  time 
up  to  the  present'  and  •  even  at  the  present'  is  natural,  and  both  meanings  are  easily 
derived  from  the  radical  meaning  '  without  moving  from  its  place.'  Compare  the 
different  meanings  of  dum,  donee,  luc,  &c.  Thus  in  Ham.  II,  ii,  42 ;  Tr,  and  Cres. 
IV,  v,  195;  0th.  I,  iii,  147;  Tit.  And.  Ill,  ii,  44;  Rich.  Ill :  IV,  iii,  229. 

107.  palace]  Steev.  In  The  Second  Maiden's  Tragedy  (an  old  MS.  in  the 
library  of  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne)  monuments  are  styled  '  the  palaces  of  death.' 
ISing. 

Clarke.  By  these  few  words — a  concentrated  amalgamation  of  richest  splendours 
with  dunnest  obscurity — the  poet  brings  his  grandly-blended  imagery  in  this  speecn 
to  a  fitting  climax. 

108.  Depart  again]  Cavbr.   The  Q^  here  reads ; 

24* 


282  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc  iU. 

With  worms  that  are  thy  chamber-maids ;  O,  here 

Will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest,  110 

And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 

From  this  world-wearied  flesh. — Eyes,  look  your  last ! 

Arms,  take  your  last  embrace !  and,  lips,  O  you 

The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a  righteous  kiss 

A  dateless  bargain  to  engrossing  death  !  II5 

Come,  bitter  conduct,  come,  unsavour)''  guide! 

112.     tvorld-wearied^  world  wearied  wearied  Rowe. 

Q,.     worlds   wearied   F^F^F^.     world'' s  1 1 6.     [pours  it  into  a  Cup.  Capell. 

•  Depart  againe,  come  lye  thou  in  my  anne, 
Heer's  to  thy  health,  where  ere  thou  tumblest  in. 
O  true  Appothecarie  I 

Thy  drugs  are  quicke.    Thus  with  a  kisse  I  die. 
Depart  againe,  here,  here,  will  I  remaine, 
With  worroes'  &c. 

The  Qj  has  the  same  reading,  putting  a  semi-colon  after  '  againe'  in  the  fifth  line, 
and  is  followed  by  the  F,,  except  that  'armes'  is  substituted  for  'arme'  in  the  first 
line.  The  later  Folios  make  no  material  change.  The  reading  in  our  text  is  sub- 
stantially that  of  Q^  and  Q  .     Rowe  follows  the  Ff,  and  Pope  prints  : 

•  Depart  again :  come  lye  thou  in  my  arms. 
Here's  to  thy  health. — O  true  apothecary  I 
Thy  drugs  are  quick.     Here,  here  will  I  remain, 
With  worms'  &c 

Mal.  With  respect  to  the  line,  '  Here's  to  thy  health  where'er  thou  tumblest  in,' 
it  is  unnecessary  to  inquire  what  was  intended  by  it,  the  passage  in  which  this  line 
Is  found  being  afterwards  exhibited  in  another  form ;  and  being  much  more  accu 
rately  expressed  in  its  second  than  its  first  exhibition,  we  have  a  right  to  presume 
[*  we  have  indeed.' — Dyce  (ed.  i)]  that  the  poet  intended  it  to  appear  in  its  second 
form,  that  is,  as  it  now  appears  in  the  text.     \^Knt.  Dyce  (ed.  l),  Sta. 

Knt.  The  printer  had  probably  some  imperfectly  erased  notes  of  the  poet  on  his 
copy. 

Ulr.  Probably  in  the  actors'  copy  these  verses  had  been  added  without  erasing 
those  for  which  they  were  substituted,  which  might  have  seemed  superfluous :  every 
actor  knew  well  enough  what  it  meant.  Hence  appeared  the  two  versions  in  the 
text. 

no.  my  everlasting  rest]  See  notes  on  IV,  v,  6. 

Ii6.  conduct]  Mal.  So  in  a  former  scene  in  this  play:  HI,  i,  120.  \_Sing.  Sta. 
Huds.'\  Marston,  in  his  Satires,  1599,  uses  conduct  for  conductor-  'Be  thou  my 
conduct  and  my  genius.'     \^Hal. 

I12-118.  Eyes  ...  bark]  Whiter  {' Commentary ^  &c.  p.  123).  The  strange 
coincidence  has  not  been  observed  between  this  last  speech  of  Romeo  and  a  former 
one  in  which  he  anticipates  his  misfortunes  [conf  I,  iv,  106].  The  curious  reader 
will  not  fail  to  observe  that  the  ideas  drawn  from  the  Stars,  the  Law,  and  the  Sea 
succeed  each  other  in  both  speeches,  in  the  same  order,  though  with  a  different 
application.     The  bitter  cause  of  Romeo's  death  is  to  be  found  in  the  latter  speech, 


X  y 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  283 

Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 

The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark. 

Here's  to  my  love  !     \_Dn7iks^ — O  true  apothecary  !  1 19 

Thy  drugs  are  quick. — Thus  with  a  kiss  I  die.  \Dies. 

Enter,  at  the  other  end  of  the  churchyard.  Friar  Laurence,  with  a  lantern,  crow, 

and  spade. 

Fri.  L.     Saint  Francis  be  my  speed !  how  oft  to-night 
Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves  ! — Who's  there  ? 

Bal.     Here's  one,  a  friend,  and  one  that  knows  you  well. 

Fn.  L.     Bliss  be  upon  you !     Tell  me,  good  my  friend. 
What  torch  is  yond  that  vainly  lends  his  light  125 

To  grubs  and  eyeless  skulls  ?  as  I  discern, 
It  burneth  in  the  Capels'  monument. 

Bal.     It  doth  so,  holy  sir ;  and  there's  my  master, 
One  that  you  love. 

Fn.  L.  Who  is  it  ? 

Bal.  Romeo. 

Fri.  L.     How  long  hath  he  been  there  ? 

Bal.  Full  half  an  hour.     130 

118.  thy\  my  Pope,  &c.  Capell,  irom.  {(^^),\n?,tri  Who  is  it  that  cotisorts, 
Dyce  (ed.  2)  (S.  Walker  conj.).  so  late,  the  dead ? 

119.  [Drinks.]    Drinks  the  poison.  126.     /]  om.  F  F  . 

Theobald,    om.  QqFf.  127.      Capeli~\    Capulet' s    F^.     Capti- 

120.  [Dies.]  Theob.  Kisses  her,  lets'  Theob.  Johns.  Capulets  Rowe,  &€. 
and  expires.  Capell.    om.  QqFf.  128,129.     //(/i3M.../ot'^.]  Asin  Johns. 

Enter...]    Mai.    after   Capell.     Enter  One  line  in  Qq.     Two,  the  first  ending 

Frier    with     Lanthome,     Crowe,    and  sir,  in  Ff,  Rowe,  &c. 
Spade.  QqFf.  129.     that  you\    you    dearly    Pope, 

122.     After  this  line  Steev.  and  Var.  Theob.  Han.  Warb. 

though  I  am  well  aware  that  the  word  bitterly  [I,  iv,  108]  was  suggested  to  the 
Poet  by  the  impression  on  his  mind  of  the  peculiar  species  of  death  which  he  had 
himself  destined  for  the  character,  and  that  it  was  not  intentionally  selected  for  the 
purpose  of  attributing  to  Romeo  a  presentiment  of  the  mode  by  which  the  date  of  his 
existence  was  to  expire.  This  singular  coincidence  in  the  accumulation  of  images 
apparently  so  remote  cannot  surely  be  considered  as  the  effect  of  chance,  or  as  the 
product  of  imitation.  It  is  certainly  derived  from  some  latent  association,  which  I 
have  in  vain  attempted  to  discover.  There  is  scarcely  a  play  of  Sh.'s  where  we  do 
aot  find  some  favorite  vein  of  metaphor  or  allusion  by  which  it  is  distinguished. 

1:8.  thy]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  '  "My"  surely,'  says  Walker  {Crit.  Exam.,  &c.,  vol. 
iii,  p.  228),  not  knowing  that  the  correction  had  been  made  long  ago. 

122.  stumbled]  Steev.  This  accident  was  reckoned  ominous.  So  in  3  Hen. 
VI:  IV   TM,  II.     lClarke.'\     Again  in  Richard  III:  III,  iv,  86.     \_Sing.  Huds 


284 


ROMEO   AiVD   JULIET. 


[ACT  V,  sc.  iil 


Fri.  L.     Go  with  me  to  the  vault. 

Bal.  I  dare  not,  sir: 

My  master  knows  not  but  I  am  gone  hence ; 
And  fearfully  did  menace  me  with  death, 
If  I  did  stay  to  look  on  his  intents. 

Fri.  L.     Stay,  then;  I'll  go  alone. — Fear  comes  upon  me;  135 
O,  much  I  fear  some  ill  unlucky  thing. 

Bal.     As  I  did  sleep  under  this  yew-tree  here, 
I  dreamt  my  master  and  another  fought. 
And  that  my  master  slew  him. 

Fri.  L.  Romeo !  [Advances. 

Alack,  alack,  what  blood  is  this,  which  stains  14.0 

The  stony  entrance  of  this  sepulchre  ? — 
What  mean  these  masterless  and  gory  swords 


134.  intents']  entents  Q^QjQ^F.F,. 

135.  Stay,  then  , 'I  Haz.  Corn.  Dyce, 
White,  Cambr.  Stay  then,  Q  ,  Theob. 
Han.  Warb.  Johns.  Capell,  Var.  Knt. 
Del.  Sing.  Sta.  Ktly.  Stay  then  Q^. 
Stay,  then  QjQ^Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.  Stay, 
then.  Coll.  Ulr.  Huds.  Hal. 

Fear  come!']  feares  comes   F,, 
Rowe.  feares  come  F^F  F^. 

136.  unlucky]  unthriftie  Q^,  Coll. 
Huds.  Hal. 


^37-139-  o™-  B.  Strutt  conj.  (ap. 
Seymour). 

137.  yew-tree]  Pope,  yong  tree  Q,. 
young  tree  QjQ^FfQ  ,  Rowe,  Ulr. 

139.  Romeo!]  Rowe,  &c.  Rotneo. 
QqFf.  Romeo  ?  Han.  Capell,  Steev. 
Mai.  Har.  Sing.  (ed.  l).  Romeo —  Sta. 
[Advances.]  Mai.  leaves  him, 
and  goes  forward.  Capell.  om.  QqFf, 
Ulr.  follows  (Q,). 


136.  unlucky]  Ulr.  '  Unthrifty,'  as  an  adjective  to  '  thing,'  seems  to  me  forced, 
and  must  have  been  afterwards  changed  by  Sh.  himself  into  unlucky. 

137.  yew-tree]  Ulr.  The  majority  of  the  edd.  here  read  'yew-tree'  on  the  sup- 
position that  Balthasar  is  speaking  of  the  same  trees  of  which  the  County  Paris  had 
previously  thought  (V,  iii,  3).  Nevertheless,  as  I  have  before  observed,  it  can 
scarcely  have  been  Sh.'s  intention  to  represent  Balthasar  and  the  County's  Page  as 
sleeping  under  the  same  tree — which  would  be  almost  comic  in  its  by-play — and 
that  he  has  therefore  probably  been  obliged  to  represent  the  trees  as  different.  There 
is  consequently  no  sufficient  reason  to  make  any  change  here. 

138.  I  dreamt]  Steev.  This  is  one  of  the  touches  of  nature  that  would  have 
escaped  the  hand  of  any  painter  less  attentive  to  it  than  Sh.  What  happens  to  a 
person  under  the  manifest  influence  of  fear  will  seem  to  him,  when  he  is  recovered 
from  it,  like  a  dream.  [5/a.]  Homer,  book  8th,  represents  Rhesus  dying  fast 
asleep,  and,  as  it  were,  beholding  his  enemy  plunging  a  sword  into  his  bosom.  Eus- 
tathius  and  Dacier  both  applaud  this  image  as  very  natural ;  for  a  man  in  such  a 
condition,  says  Pope,  awakes  no  further  than  to  see  confusedly  what  environs  him, 
and  to  think  it  not  a  reality  but  a  vision.  [  Verp.  Huds.]  Let  me  add  that  this 
passage  appears  to  have  been  imitated  by  Quintus  Calaber,  xiii,  125 : 


noTMOf  6mu{  bpouvTt^  oviiptKnv.     [Sitif. 


ACT  V,  sc.  lii.]  ROMEO  AND   JULIET.  285 

To  lie  discolour'd  by  this  place  of  peace  ?    [^Enters  the  Monument. 
Romeo  !  O,  pale  ! — Who  else  ?  what,  Paris  too  ? 
And  steep'd  in  blood  ? — Ah,  what  an  unkind  hour  145 

Is  guilty  of  this  lamentable  chance ! — 

The  lady  stirs.  \_yulict  wakes, 

jful.     O  comfortable  friar !  where  is  my  lord  ? — 

143.     [Enters...]  Capell.     om.  QqFf,  Ff.     ...and  stirs.  Var.  Knt.  Ktly.    ...and 

Rowe,  &c.  Del.     ...tomb.  Cambr.  looks  about  her.  Capell. 

147.     [Juliet    wakes.]      ....awaking.  148.     where  is\    Where's   Ff,   Rowe, 

Pope,  &c.     ...rises.  (QJ  Ulr.     om.  Qq  Pope,  Han.  Dyce  (ed.  2). 

143.  To  lie]  Abbott  {Sh.^n  Grammar,  1870  (ed.  3),  p.  256).  To  was  originally 
used  not  with  the  infinitive  but  with  the  gerund  in  -<?,  and,  like  the  Latin  ^ad^  with 
the  gerund,  denoted  a  purpose.  Thus  '/o  love'  was  originally  ^to  lovene,'  i.  e.,  'to 
(or  toward^  loving'  (ad  amandum).  Gradually,  as  to  superseded  the  proper  infini- 
tival inflection,  to  was  used  in  other  and  more  indefinite  senses,  '  for,'  *  about,'  '  in,' 

as  regards,'  and,  in  a  word,  for  any  form  of  the  gerund  as  well  as  for  the  infinitive. 

This  gerundive  use  of  the  infinitive  is  common  after  the  verb  •  to  mean.' — Ant.  and 
Cleo.  IV,  i,  34. 

147.  The  lady  stirs]  Mal.  In  the  alteration  of  this  play,  as  exhibited  on  the 
stage,  Garrick  appears  to  have  been  indebted  to  Otway,  who,  perhaps  without  any 
knowledge  of  the  story  as  told  by  Da  Porta  and  Bandello,  does  not  permit  Romeo 
to  die  before  Juliet  awakes.     \_Sing.  Verp. 

148.  comfortable]  Walker.  ['Crit.,'  vol.  i,  p.  99,  Art.  xi).  Certain  words 
used  with  reference  to  the  agent.  Thus,  also,  comfortable — and  in  like  manner 
uncomfortable  and  discomfortable — are  uniformly  applied  to  a  person,  or  to  a  thing 
personified,  the  idea  of  will  and  purpose  being  always  implied  in  them.  Timon  IV, 
iii,  497  (so  I  would  arrange  the  lines) : 

'  Had  I  a  steward  so  true,  so  just,  and  now 
So  comfortable  ?' 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  V,  iii,  148;  All's  Well,  I,  i,  86:  '  Be  comfortable  to  my  mothw, 

your  mistress,  and  make  much  of  her.'     King  Lear,  I,  iv,  327 :  ' yet  have  I 

left  a  daughter.  Who  I  am  sure  is  kind  and  comfortable.'  (In  As  You  Like  It,  II, 
vi,  9 — •  For  my  sake  be  comfortable' — the  word  seems  to  be  used  in  a  passive  sense, 
nearly  as  Knight  explains  it,  susceptible  of  comfort.  See  above,  '  comfort  a  little.') 
King  Richard  II :  III,  ii,  36 :  '  Discomfortable  cousin !'    Ford,  Lover's  Melancholy, 

V,  i ;  see  context : 

' for,  had  not  Rhetias 

Been  always  comfortable  to  me,  certainly 
Things  had  gone  worse.' 

MiddletoTj,  &c..  Old  Law,  II,  ii ;  Moxon's  Massinger,  p.  423,  col.  2 : 

'  In  troth,  Eugenia,  I  have  cause  to  weep  too ; 
But,  when  I  visit,  I  come  comfortably. 
And  look  to  be  so  quited  ' 

Ford,  Lady's  Trial,  III,  iii,  near  the  beginning : 

'  How  surely  dost  thou  malice  these  extremes, 
Uncomfortable  man  I' 


286  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [ACT  v,  sc.  iil 

I  do  remember  well  where  I  should  be,  149 

And  there  I  am  : — where  is  my  Romeo  ?  \Noise  ivithin. 

Fri.  L.     I  hear  some  noise. — Lady,  come  from  that  nest 
Of  death,  contagion,  and  unnatural  sleep : 
A  greater  power  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents:  come,  come  away: 
Thy  husband  in  thy  bosom  there  lies  dead;  155 

And  Paris  too:  come,  I'll  dispose  of  thee 
Among  a  sisterhood  of  holy  nuns : 
Stay  not  to  question,  for  the  watch  is  coming; 

150.  [Noise  within.]  Capell.  om.  Lady,  Pope,  &c.  noyse  Lady,  Qi-jFt 
QqFf.  noise.    Lady,     Rowe.       noise.     Lady, 

151.  noise. — Lady,"]  Capell.     noise!         Cambr. 

And  so,  perhaps,  in  Milton,  P.  L.,  1077  : 

'  And  sends  a  comfortable  heat  from  far, 
Which  might  supply  the  sun.' 

And  Bunyan,  P.  P.,  Part  II,  '  So  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  they  went  on  their  way, 
and  the  weather  was  comfortable  unto  them.' 

152.  unnatural  sleep]  Steev.  The  sleep  of  Juliet  was  ««Ka/Mra/,  being  brought 
on  by  drugs.     [Del. 

Del.  In  connection  with  death  and  contagion  it  means,  perhaps,  more  probably 
that  it  is  unnatural  to  sleep  in  such  a  place  of  all  others. 

155.  Thy  husband  .  .  .  dead]  Mal.  Sh.  has  been  arraigned  for  departing  from 
the  Italian  novel,  in  making  Romeo  die  before  Juliet  awakes,  and  thus  losing  a 
happy  opportunity  of  introducing  an  affecting  scene.  But  he  undoubtedly  had  never 
read  the  Italian  novel,  or  any  literal  translation  of  it,  and  was  misled  by  the  poem 
of  Romeus  and  Juliet,  which  departs  from  the  Italian  story  in  this  regard.  \_Sing. 
Huds. 

Sing.  Schlegel  remarks  that  '  the  poet  seems  to  have  hit  upon  what  was  best. 
There  is  a  measure  of  agitation,  beyond  which  all  that  is  superadded  becomes  tor- 
ture, or  glides  off  ineffectually  from  the  already  saturated  mind.  In  case  of  the  cruel 
reunion  of  the  lovers  for  an  instant,  Romeo's  remorse  for  his  over-hasty  self-murder, 
Juliet's  despair  over  her  deceitful  hope,  at  first  cherished,  then  annihilated,  that  she 
was  at  the  goal  of  her  wishes,  must  have  deviated  into  caricatures.  Nobody  surely 
doubts  that  Sh.  was  able  to  represent  these  with  suitable  force;  but  here  everything 
soothing  was  welcome  in  order  that  we  may  not  be  frightened  out  of  the  melancholy, 
to  which  we  willingly  resign  ourselves,  by  too  painful  discords.  Why  should  we 
heap  still  more  upon  accident,  that  is  already  so  guilty  ?  Wherefore  shall  not  the 
tortureC  Romeo  quietly  '  Shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars  From  his  world- 
wearied  flesh  ?'  He  holds  his  beloved  in  his  arms,  and,  dying,  cheers  himself  with 
a  vision  of  everlasting  marriage.  She  also  seeks  death,  in  a  kiss,  upon  his  lips. 
These  last  moments  must  belong  unparticipated  to  tenderness,  that  we  may  hold  fast 
to  the  thought,  that  love  lives,  although  the  lovers  perish.     [  Verp.  Huds. 

[For  Garrick's  version  of  this  scene,  see  Appendix.]   Ed. 

158.  the  watch]  Mal.    It  has  been  objected  that  there  is  no  such  establishment 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET,  287 

Come,  go,  good  Juliet ;  \Noise  again^ — I  dare  no  longer  stay. 

{Exit. 

yiil.     Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I  will  not  away. —  160 

What's  here  ?  a  cup,  closed  in  my  true  love's  hand  ? 
Poison,  I  see,  hath  been  his  timeless  end : — 
O  churl !  drunk  all,  and  left  no  friendly  drop 
To  help  me  after  ? — I  will  kiss  thy  lips  ; 

Haply  some  poison  yet  doth  hang  on  them,  165 

To  make  me  die  with  a  restorative.  \Kisses  him. 

Thy  lips  are  warm. 

First  Watch.     [  Within'\  Lead,  boy :  which  way  ? 

Jill.     Yea,  noise  ?  then  I'll  be  brief. — O  happy  dagger! 

\Snatching  Romeo's  dagger. 

159.  [Noise  again.  Capell.  om,  Qq  Sta.  Dyce,  Clarke,  Ktly.  drank. ...left 
Ff,  Cambr.  Hal. 

no  longer  stay']  stay  no   longer  all,]  QqF^.    all?  F^F^F^.    all; 

Capell,  Var.  Capell,  Var.  Knt.  Sing.  Sta. 

[Exit.]    QqFf.     ...hastily.   Ca-  166.     [Kisses  him.]  Capell.    om.  Qq 

pell.     ...Fri.  L.  (after  line  160),  Dyce,  Ff. 

Cambr.  167.     First  Watch.  [Within]  Capell. 

160.  not  away]  notuaway  F,.  Enter  boy  and  Watch.    Watch.  QqFf. 
163.     0]  Ah  (Q,)  Sta.  168.      Yea,  noise?]  Separate  line,  Ff. 

drunk.... left]   White  from  Q^,  [Snatching....]     Steev.      taking    Ro- 

Cambr.     drinke....left   Q^Q^Ff,    Rowe,  meo's.  Capell.    Finding  a  dagger.  Pope, 

Knt.  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.    drinke... leave  (QJ  &c.    om.  QqFf. 
Qj,  Pope,  &c.  Capell,  Var.  Sing.  Huds. 

in  Italy.  Sh.  seldom  scrupled  to  give  the  manners  and  usages  of  his  own  country 
to  others.  In  this  particular  instance  the  old  poem  was  his  guide  :  '  The  wery  watch 
discharg'd  did  hye  them  home  to  slepe.'    Again  : 

'  The  watchemen  of  the  towne  the  whilst  are  passed  by, 
And  through  the  gates  the  candlelight  within  the  tombe  they  spye.' 

Steev.  In  Much  Ado,  where  the  scene  lies  at  Messina,  Sh.  has  also  introduced 
watchmen,  though  without  suggestion  from  any  dull  poem  like  that  just  referred  to 
See,  however,  Othello,  I,  ii,  in  which  Malone  appears  to  contradict,  on  the  strongest 
evidence,  the  present  assertion  relating  to  there  being  no  watch  in  Italy. 

Brow'N  \_'Sh.'s  Autobiog.  Poems,'  p.  III].  If  Dogberry  and  Verges  should  be 
pronounced  nothing  else  than  the  constables  of  the  night  in  London,  before  the 
new  police  was  established,  I  can  assert  that  I  have  seen  those  very  officers  in  Italy. 
\^Kht.  Verp. 

Verp.  Still  he  [Brown]  does  not  think  that  Romeo  and  Juliet  indicates  any 
knowledge  of  Italy  and  Italian  manners  beyond  what  could  be  gained  from  the 
original,  whence  the  plot  was  taken ;  this  play  having  been  written  before  the  period 
in  which  he  conjectures  Sh.  to  have  visited  Italy,  and  to  have  acquired  some  know- 
ledge of  vr.e  Italian  language. 

162.  tiireless]  Dyce.   That  is,  untimely. 


28b 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


[act  V,  sc.  n\. 


This  is  thy  sheath  \Stabs  herself^ ;  there  rest,  and  let  me  die. 

\Falls  on  Romeo's  body,  and  dies. 

Enter  Watch,  7uith  the  Page  of  Paris. 

Page.     This  is  the  place ;  there,  where  the  torch  doth  bum. 

First  Watch.  The  ground  is  bloody ;  search  about  the  church- 
yard:  171 
Go,  some  of  you,  whoe'er  you  find  attach. —  \_Exeunt  some. 
Pitiful  sight !  here  lies  the  county  slain ; 


169.  This  is"]  Tis  is  Q3.  '  Tis  in  Ff, 
Rowe. 

[Stabs  herself]  Kils  herselfe.  Ff  (at 
the  end  of  the  line),    om.  Qq. 

169.  rest'\  (Q,)  Dyce,  Haz.  Sing, 
(ed.  2),  Huds.  Coll.  (ed.  2),  Hal. 
Clarke,  Cham.  Ktly.    rust  QqFf,  et  cet. 

[Falls...]  Mai.  throws  herself  upon 
her  Lxjver,  and  expires.  Capell.  Dies. 
WTiite,  Plal. 

Enter  Watch....]   Enter  Watch,  and 


the  Page.  Capell,  from  (Q,).   Enter  Boy 
and  Watch.  QqFf  (after  -warm,  line  167). 

170.  This. ..bum']  Two  lines,  Ff. 

171.  Two  lines,  Ff. 

about    the     churchyard]     thi 
church-yard,  about  Han. 

172.  ■whoe'er]  whom  e'er  Pope,  &c. 
[Exeunt....]  ....of  the  Watch.   Han. 

Dyce the  rest  enter  the  Tomb.  Ca- 
pell.   om.  Cambr. 


169.  there  rest]  Steev.  The  alteration  from  rest  in  (QJ  to  rust  in  Q^  waa 
probably  made  by  Sh.  when  he  introduced  the  words,  '  This  is  thy  sheath.^ 

Dyce  [^Remarks'  &c.  p.  177].  ^Resf  appears  to  me  the  more  natural  expression : 
at  such  a  moment  the  thoughts  of  Juliet  were  not  likely  to  wander  away  to  the 
future  rusting  of  the  dagger ;  she  only  wishes  it,  by  resting  in  her  bosom  as  in  its 
sheath,  to  give  her  instant  death.     [Huds.  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Lettsom.   True.     [MS.  marginal  note  in  the  present  editor's  copy  of  the  above.] 

White  {'Shahs.  Scholar').   '  There  rust'  is  an  obvious  misprint  for  '  There  rest.' 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  believe  'rust'  to  be  a  decided  error.  Steevens's  remark  [as 
above]  I  do  not  understand. 

Huds.    Dyce  is  surely  right. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  Rust  is  altered  to  'rest'  in  the  (MS.),  which  word  we,  on  all  ac- 
counts, prefer.  [Dyce  quoted.]  It  may  be  added  that  if  short-hand  were  employed 
in  the  original  publication  of  this  play,  the  words  '  rest'  and  rust  would  be  spelt 
with  the  same  letters. 

White.  When  I  was  green  in  judgment,  I  hastily  agreed  that  '  rust'  is  a  misprint. 
Juliet's  thoughts  do  not,  as  Dyce  says,  wander :  they  go  forward,  though  not  to  the 
literal  end.  Her  imagination  is  excited,  and,  looking  beyond  her  suicidal  act,  she 
sees  her  dead  Romeo's  dagger,  which  would  otherwise  rust  in  its  sheath,  rusting  in 
her  heart;  and,  with  fierce  and  amorous  joy,  she  cries,  'This  is  thy  sheath;  there 
rust  and  let  me  die.' 

Clarke.  The  expression,  'Oh,  happy  dagger,'  though  meaning,  'Oh,  happily- 
found  dagger!'  'opportune  dagger!'  yet  conveys  an  included  sense  that  is  in  keep 
ing  with  the  word  'rest,'  which  also  affords  antithetical  effect  with  'let  me  die.' 
Poetically  calling  her  bosom  the  '  sheath'  to  Romeo's  dagger,  '  rest'  seems  more  vo 
harmony  than  '  rust'  with  the  image  presented. 

[The  Tragedy  here  ends  in  Booth's  Acting  Copy.]   Ed. 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.] 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


289 


And  Juliet  bleeding,  warm,  and  newly  dead, 

Who  here  hath  lain  these  two  days  buried. —  175 

Go,  tell  the  prince : — run  to  the  Capulets : — 

Raise  up  the  Montagues : — some  others  search : — 

[Exetint  other  Watchmen. 
We  see  the  ground  whereon  these  woes  do  lie ; 
But  the  true  ground  of  all  these  piteous  woes 
We  cannot  without  circumstance  descry.  180 

Re-enter  some  of  the  Watch,  with  Balthasar. 

^ec.  Watch.      Here's  Romeo's  man;    we   found   him   in  the 

churchyard. 
First  Watch.     Hold  him  in  safety,  till  the  prince  come  hither. 

Re-enter  Friar  Laurence,  and  another  Watchman. 

Third  Watch.     Here  is  a  friar,  that  trembles,  sighs  and  weeps : 
We  took  this  mattock  and  this  spade  from  him. 
As  he  was  coming  from  this  churchyard  side.  185 

First  Watch.     A  great  suspicion :  stay  the  friar  too. 

Enter  the  Prince  and  Attendants. 

Prince.     What  misadventure  is  so  early  up, 
That  calls  our  person  from  our  morning's  rest  ? 

Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  others. 

Cap.     What  should  it  be  that  they  so  shriek  abroad  ? 


174.  bleeding,']    QqFf,    Rowe,    &c. 
Com.  Cambr.    bleeding ;  Capell,  et  cet. 

175.  these]  this  Q^,  Cambr. 
177-179.     search. ..these  piteous  woes] 

go...this  piteous  woe  Johns,  conj. 
177.    [Exeunt...]  Capell.  om.  Cambr. 
A  line  here  om.  S.  Walker  conj. 

180.  Re-enter....]    Dyce.      Enter.... 
Rowe.     Enter  Romeos  man.  QqFf. 

181.  Two  lines,  Ff. 

182,186.  First  Watch.]  Rowe.  Chief, 
watch.  Qq.    Con.  Ff. 

182.  come]  comes  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  &c. 


185.  churchyard]  churchyards  Q^ 
churchyard^ s  Cambr. 

186.  too]  too  too  Q3.     too,  too  QjQ^. 

187.  Scene  v.  Pope,  Han.  Warb. 

1 88.  mornings]  morning  Q^v,,  Coll. 
Ulr.  White,  Cambr. 

Enter...]  Capell  (substantially).  Ea- 
ter Capels.  Q2Q3.  Enter  Capulet  and 
his  Wife.  Q/fQ^. 

189.  they  so  shiek]  is  so  shrike  C^^. 
is  so  shrieked  Cambr.  conj. 

shriek]  F^.     shrike  The  r«*t. 


175.  these  two  days]  Clarke.   The  time  is  here  made  to  tally  with  the  period 
25  T 


?90  ROMEO   AND   Jl'LIET.  [act  v,  5C.  i> 

La.  Cap.     The  people  in  the  street  cr>'  '  Romeo,'  19c 

Some  'Juliet,'  and  some  '  Paris,'  and  all  run 
With  open  outer}'  toward  our  monument. 

Pnncc.     What  fear  is  this  which  startles  in  our  ears  ? 

Fit'st  Watch.     Sovereign,  here  lies  the  County  Paris  slain ; 
And  Romeo  dead;  and  Juliet,  dead  before,  195 

Warm  and  new  kill'd. 

Piiticc.     Search,  seek,  and  know  how  this  foul  murder  comes. 

FiJ'St  IVatch.     Here  is  a  friar,  and  slaughter'd  Romeo's  man, 
With  instruments  upon  them  fit  to  open 
These  dead  men's  tombs.  200 

Cap.     O  heaven ! — O  wife,  look  how  our  daughter  bleeds  ! 
This  dagger  hath  mista'en,  for,  lo,  his  house 
Is  empty  on  the  back  of  Montague, 
And  is  mis-sheathed  in  my  daughter's  bosom ! 

190.     The  people\Yo-^t.    0  the  people  201.      O  heaven  !'\  Separate  line.  Ft. 

QqFf,  Rowe,  Coll.  Ulr.  Del.  Sing.  (ed.  heaven]  heavens  Q^,  Var.  Cambr. 

2),  ^\'hite,  Ktly.  202-204.     his   house. ...And    iV]    tht 

193.     our]  Capell  (Johns,  and  Heath  sheath  Lies. ..The  point  Pope,  &c. 

conj.).     your   QqFf,   Rowe,  &c.   Knt,  204.     is]  it  Q^,  Steev.  Camp.  Cambr 

Coll.  (ed.  l),  Ulr.  Del.  ^\^lite.  mis-sheathed]    F^.      misheathed 

197.  Search]  Separate  line,  Ff.  F^F^Q^F^.    missheathd  Q^.    tuisheath'd 

198.  slaughtered]   Slaughter  Q^.  Q^Q^. 

200.     Enter    Capulet   and   his   wife.  is  mis-sheathed]  it  is  mis-sheath^ d 

QjQ  .  Mommsen  conj. 

mentioned  by  the  Friar  in  IV,  i,  105,  as  the  one  during  which  the  sleeping-potion 
will  take  effect. 

178.  We  see  .  .  .  lie]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  'Surely  a  line  is  lost  previous  to  this, 
rhyming  to:  "  But  the  true  ground  of  all  these  piteous  woes."  ' — Walker's  ^Crii.^ 
vol.  i,  p.  74. 

193.  our  ears]  Ulr.  It  is  very  possible  that  'your*  is  a  misprint,  and  that  the 
more  natural  our  is  the  correct  reading. 

Del.  Johnson's  emendation  is  superfluous. 

HuDS.  Johnson's  change,  though  perhaps  not  necessary  to  the  sense,  helps  it  a 
good  deal. 

202.  for  lo,  .  .  .  Montague]  Mal.  These  words  are  parenthetical.    \^Sing.  Httds. 

203.  on  the  back]  Steev.  The  dagger  was  anciently  worn  behind  the  back. 
So  in  The  Longer  Thou  Livest  the  More  Fool  Thou  Art,  1570:  'Thou  must  weare 
thy  sword  by  thy  side.  And  thy  dagger  handsumly  at  thy  backe.'  [5/a.]  Again, 
in  Humours  Ordinarie,  &c.,  an  ancient  collection  of  satires,  no  date :  •  See  you  the 
huge  bum  dagger  at  his  back .'"     [Sing.  Huds. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  It  would  be  only  waste  of  space  to  reproduce  Steevens's  misquoted 
instances,  to  show  that  the  dagger  was  commonly  turned  behind,  and  worn  at  the 
back.     The  fact  was  so. 

204.  is  mis-sheathed]  Mommsen.   To  construe  to  mis-sheath,  like  to  miscarry 


/ICT  V,  sc.  Hi]  ROMEO  AND   JULIET  29 1 

La.  Cap.     O  me  !  this  sight  of  death  is  as  a  bell  205 

Tliat  warns  my  old  age  to  a  sepulchre. 

Enter  Montague  and  otners. 

Prince.     Come,  Montague ;  for  thou  art  early  up, 
To  see  thy  son  and  heir  more  early  down. 

Mon.     Alas,  my  liege,  my  wife  is  dead  to-night ; 
Grief  of  my  son's  exile  hath  stopp'd  her  breath :  210 

What  further  woe  conspires  against  mine  age  ? 

Prince.     Look,  and  thou  shalt  see, 

Mon.     O  thou  untaught !  what  manners  is  in  this, 

206.     Enter.. ..and    others.]     Capell.  (Q,).  And  young  BenvcHo  is  deceased 

Enter  Mountague.  QqFf.  too. 

208.     fHore  early  down'\   (Q^)  Steev,  21 1.     »?2«i?]  Q^.    wj  The  rest.  Rowe, 

now  early  downe  QjQ^FfQ  ,  Rowe,  &c.  &c.  Capell,  Knt.  Dyce  (ed.  l). 

Capell.     now  earling  downe  Q^.     now  212.     Look'\  Look  in  this  monumenl 

early  fallen  Fope,  Han.  Steev.  conj.    Look  here  Kt\y.    Look  here 

210.     After  this  line   Dyce  (ed.  2),  or  there  Dyce  (ed.  2)  conj.    Look,  look 

following    Ritson,   would    insert,   from  Anon,  conj.* 

[showing  Romeo.  Capell. 

intransitively  might  be  permissible,  but  it  is  a  very  venturesome  conjecture  to  put  the 
full  form  mis-sheathid,  as  in  the  Imperfect,  because  Sh.  almost  always  syncopated  it. 
fhe  only  instance  in  this  play  (IV,  v,  84)  is  ordained,  in  Spenserian  style,  and  this  too 
in  a  place  where  Q^  has  close  by  some  gross  misprints.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
manifestly  incorrect,  for  the  sake  of  the  is  of  Q^,  to  throw  out  the  new  Nominative 
it  transmitted  from  (QJ  through  Q^^,  and  so  urgently  required  by  the  construction. 
(Pope  properly  felt  this.)  The  error  in  Q^  therefore  does  not  consist  in  having  the 
syncopated  form  instead  of  the  full  one, — this  would  be  a  most  excessively  rare  error 
for  Q^, — but  in  the  omission  of  the  little  word  is  after  it  and  before  mis.  Since  Sh. 
in  his  (earlier)  plays  occasionally  places  the  paroxytone  accent  on  the  words  com 
pounded  with  mis,  for,  con,  be  [numerous  examples  are  here  given  by  the  learned 
commentator.  Ed.],  there  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think,  that  we  must  not  write  Ws 
mis-sheathed,  but  it  is  mis-sheath' d. 

210.  Grief  .  .  .  breath]  Steev.  The  line  that  follows  this  in  (Q,)  I  suppose  the 
poet  rejected,  on  his  revision  of  the  play,  as  unnecessary  slaughter. 

RiTSON.  The  line  which  gives  an  account  of  Benvolio's  death  was  probably 
thrown  in  to  account  for  his  absence  from  this  interesting  scene.     \^Dyce  (ed.  2). 

Ulr.  The  pacific,  considerate  Benvolio,  the  constant  counsellor  of  mc  deration, 
ought  not  to  be  involved  in  the  fate  which  had  overtaken  the  extremes  of  hate  and 
passion. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  line  from  (Q,)  ought  to  be  inserted 
In  a  modem  text. 

213.  manners  is]  Abbott  {'Sh.^n  Grammar'  (ed.  3),  1870,  p.  235).  The  sub- 
itt^i-noun  may  be  considered  as  singular  ir  thought. 


292  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iii 

To  press  before  thy  father  to  a  grave  ? 

Prince.     Seal  up  the  mouth  of  outrage  for  a  while,  215 

Till  we  can  clear  these  ambiguities 
And  know  their  spring,  their  head,  their  true  descent ; 
And  then  will  I  be  general  of  your  woes 
And  lead  you  even  to  death :  meantime  forbear, 
And  let  mischance  be  slave  to  patience. —  220 

Bring  forth  the  parties  of  suspicion. 

Fri.  L.     I  am  the  greatest,  able  to  do  least, 
Yet  most  suspected,  as  the  time  and  place 

215.     outrage]  outcry  Coll.  (ed.  2)  (MS.)  Huds.  Ktly. 

214.  before  thy  father]  Steev.   So  in  The  Tragedy  of  Darius,  1603: 

'  Ah  me  I  malicious  fates  have  done  me  wrong : 
Who  came  first  to  the  world  should  first  depart. 
It  not  becomes  the  old  t'  o'er-live  the  young; 
This  dealing  is  prepost'rous  and  o'erthwart."    \.SiHg. 

Mal.   Again  in  the  Rape  of  Lucrece : 

'  If  children  pre-decease  progenitors, 
We  are  their  ofispring,  and  they  none  of  ours.'    \SiHg. 

215.  mouth  of  outrage]  Coll.  ['Notes  and  Emend.*  &c.  p.  394).  Perhaps 
'outrage'  is  to  be  taken  in  the  general  sense  of  disturbance;  but  the  (MS.)  givei 
the  word  differently.  The  necessity  for  the  change  is  not  very  apparent ;  but,  never- 
theless. Lady  Capulet  has  exclaimed  on  entering:  [lines  190-192.] 

Ulr.  I  consider  this  change  as  one  which  the  (MS.)  made  out  of  whole  cloth: 
he  might  have  thought  that '  outrage'  was  too  strong  a  phrase  to  apply  to  what  old 
Montague  has  just  said.  This  is  certainly  true ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  *  mouth 
of  outcry  is  sheer  tautology,  and  is  besides  a  very  strong  expression,  as  it  is  scarcely 
to  be  assumed  that  old  Montague  had  really  'shrieked  out.'  At  all  events,  the  em 
endation,  if  it  be  one,  is  unimportant. 

Sing.  (ed.  2).   A  plausible  conjecture,  but  change  seems  hardly  necessary. 

Huds.    It  is  not  easy  to  see  what  business  outrage  can  have  in  such  a  place. 

Sta.  No  change  is  needed.  In  i  Henry  VI :  IV,  i,  126,  we  find  the  word  with 
precisely  the  same  signification  as  in  the  present  passage : 

' Are  you  not  asham'd. 

With  this  immodest,  clamorous  outrage 
To  trouble  and  disturb  the  king  and  us?' 

Dyce  (ed.  I).  It  is  worth  notice  that  Johnson  {Diet.  sub.  'Outrage')  has  cited  a 
oassage  from  a  comparatively  recent  poet  (Philips)  where  '  this  word  seems  to  be 
used  for  mere  commotion.'     [Collier's  '  very  specious'  change  cited.] 

Coll.  (ed.  2).    The  reading  'outrage'  (as  constantly  misprinted)  is  almost  non 
lense,  and  Lady  Capulet  has  spoken  just  before  of  the  '  open  outcry'  which  had 
aroused  her.     The  mouth  of  this  'open  outcry'  the  Prince  wished  to  be  sealed. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Thus  in  a  play  written  long  after  Sh.'s  days.  Settle's  Female  Prt 
Uiie,  &c.  1680,  p.  30 :  'Silence  his  ou.'''age  in  a  jayl,  away  with  him  !' 


ACT  v,  ic.  iii.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  293 

Doth  make  against  me,  of  this  direful  murder; 

And  here  I  stand,  both  to  impeach  and  purge  225 

Myself  condemned  and  myself  excused. 

Prifice.     Then  say  at  once  what  thou  dost  know  in  this, 
Fri.  L.     I  will  be  brief,  for  my  short  date  of  breath 

Is  not  so  long  as  is  a  tedious  tale. 

Romeo,  there  dead,  was  husband  to  that  Juliet ;  230 

And  she,  there  dead,  that  Romeo's  faithful  wife : 

I  married  them ;  and  their  stol'n  marriage-day 

Was  Tybalt's  dooms-day,  whose  untimely  death 

Banish'd  the  new-made  bridegroom  from  this  city; 

For  whom,  and  not  for  Tybalt,  Juliet  pined.  235 

You,  to  remove  that  siege  of  grief  from  her, 

Betroth'd  and  would  have  married  her  perforce 

To  County  Paris :  then  comes  she  to  me, 

224.     Doth]  Doe  Q^.^,  Uzn.  231.     that]  tkats  Qj:^^.    that's  Ft 

235.     Juliet]  Julia  Knt.  (ed.  i). 

228.  I  will  be  brief]  Johnso.v.  It  is  much  to  be  lamented  that  the  poet  did  not 
conclude  the  dialogue  with  the  action,  and  avoid  a  narrative  of  events  which  the 
audience  already  knew.     \^Sing.  (ed.  l),  Verp. 

Mal.  Sh.  was  led  into  this  uninteresting  narrative  by  following  Romeus  and 
Juliet  too  closely.     \_Sing.  Verp. 

Steev.  In  the  poem  the  bodies  of  the  dead  are  removed  to  a  public  scaffold,  and 
from  that  elevation  is  the  Friar's  narrative  delivered.  The  same  circumstance  is 
introduced  in  Hamlet.     \_Sing.  Verp.  Coll.  (ed.  2). 

Ulr.  Johnson  and  Malone  think  that  Sh.  committed  an  Eesthetic  blunder  in  here 
following  Brooke's  poem.  But  they  do  not  reflect  that  without  this  '  narrative'  all 
that  follows,  most  especially  the  reconciliation  of  the  Capulets  and  Montagues  over 
the  corpses  of  their  children,  the  victims  of  their  hate,  would  be  lost,  and  thereby 
the  tragedy  be  robbed  of  one  of  its  profoundest  and  most  exquisite  elements.  (Com- 
pare Shakespeare' s  Dramatic  Art,  p.  359.)  It  is,  moreover,  interesting  to  note 
that  in  the  (Q,),  where  the  text  is  everywhere  shorter  and  more  scanty,  this  narra- 
tive, which  had  to  be  compressed  into  the  smallest  possible  compass,  is  even  longer 
than  it  is  in  the  later  editions. 

White.  In  the  two  versions  of  this  tragedy  this  speech  differs  little  in  thought 
and  nothing  in  purpose,  but  greatly  in  language.  In  the  earlier  it  is  much  the 
poorer,  and  with  a  poverty  of  expression  which  is  not  Sh.'s  at  any  period  of  his  life. 
I  believe  it  to  have  been  patched  up  from  memory  or  imperfect  notes  by  an  inferior 
hand.  Notice  in  this  speech  in  (QJ  the  idioms  'whereas'  and  'for  to,'  which  Sh. 
seems  so  sedulously  to  have  avoided,  and  which,  it  should  be  observed,  arc  found  in 
all  the  surreptitious  and  mutilated  versions  of  his  plays,  and  disappear  in  the 
authentic  eds. 

236.  that  siege]  Del.    Sh.  has  before  used  the  image  of  a  siege  in  I,  i,  210. 
25* 


294  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v^.  sc.  liL 

And  with  wild  looks  bid  me  devise  some  means 

To  rid  her  from  this  second  marriage,  24a 

Or  in  my  cell  there  would  she  kill  herself. 

Then  gave  I  her,  so  tutor'd  by  my  art, 

A  sleeping  potion ;  which  so  took  effect 

As  I  intended,  for  it  wrought  on  her 

The  form  of  death  :  meantime  I  writ  to  Romeo,  245 

That  he  should  hither  come  as  this  dire  nig-ht, 

239.     means'\  vteane  Q^,  Cambr.  Pope,  Han. 

245.  -uirit^    write    Rowe   (ed.   2)*,  246.     as'\  at  Ktly. 

246.  as  this]  Allen  {'■Notes  on  The  Tempest.  Minutes  of  the  Sh.  Soc.  of 
Phila.,'  1S66,  p.  12.  Temp.  I,  ii,  70,  'as,  at  that  time').  By  removing  the  comma 
we  get  an  expression  precisely  equivalent  to  the  as-at-this-time  in  the  Prayer-Book 
Collect  for  Christmas,  which  (thirty  odd  years  agoj  I  settled  in  my  mind  (against 
the  commentators)  must  be  a  more  or  less  precise  and  emphatic  now.  I  considered, 
namely,  that  at-this-time  was  simply  equal  to  no-u ;  that  aj-at-this-time  was  equal  to 
as-now  or  now-as;  and  that  now-as  would  be  one  of  the  correlatives  of  the  recog- 
nized whenas.  It  was  easy  enough  to  go  further  and  say,  that  as-at-XhdX-time  woviXA 
be  equal  to  as-then  or  then-as,  and  that  then-as  would  be  the  other  correlative  of 
whenas.  I  did  not,  indeed,  imagine  that  either  now-as  and  then-as,  or  as-fiow  and 
as-then,  could  be  found  in  any  of  our  old  authors,h\xi  Johnson  taught  me  that  as  hou 
was  used  by  so  late  a  writer  as  Addison,  and  I  remembered  that  the  exact  equivalent 
of  as  then  was  current  in  German,  under  the  form  of  alsdann.  There  was  reason 
to  believe,  therefore,  that  more  such  adverbial  forms,  with  as  prefixed  or  suffixed — 
perhaps,  even,  systems  of  correlatives  with  as  (analogous  to  whereby  and  thereby, 
&c.) — once  existed  in  the  old  colloquial  language  of  both  England  and  Germany. 
Turning  to  the  Deutsches  IVorterbuch  of  the  brothers  Grimm,  I  not  only  found 
(vol.  i,  p.  258^)  that  als  {z=z  as)  was  used  with  such  Adverbs  as  yesterday,  to-day, 
to-morrow,  &c.,  in  Opitz  and  other  old  authors,  and  to  this  day  (vol.  i,  p.  247a)  in 
the  spoken  language  of  the  Rhine  and  Main  lands,  but  also  perceived  that  a  similar 
use  of  as  in  English  was  known  to  these  German  philologists.  Verifying  this  state- 
ment, I  met  in  Chaucer's  Legende  of  Goode  Women  (so  admirably  edited  by  Prof. 
Corson),  '  This  thoghte  hire  was  felicite  as  here^  (2587),  '  us  nedeth  trewely  Nothing 
as  no7v'  (1491),  'As-in-that-poynt .  .  .  Thou  folwest  him  certayn'  (2547),  and  ' as-in- 
^ove  trusteth  no  man  but  me'  (2568).  Professor  Corson's  MS.  Select  Glossary  of  La 
Alert  d' Arthur  (kindly  lent  me)  furnishes  seventeen  examples,  including  not  only 
as  at  this  time  and  as  at  that  time,  as  to-night  and  as  to-morrow,  but  also  as  at  bed 
and  at  board.  In  the  Paston  Letters  (Bohn's  ed.,  vol.  ii,  p.  156),  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk writes  that  '  the  King  would  have  set  forth  as  upon  Monday  ;^  and  in  the  Homily 
for  Good  Friday  (near  the  beginning)  we  have  ^as  about  this  time.'  As  then  occurs 
also  in  Jeremy  Taylor's  '  Sermon  on  the  Marriage-Ring :'  '  because  as  then  it  was, 
when  they  were  to  flie.'  Nor  is  the  passage  in  The  Temp,  absolutely  the  only  one  in 
which  Shakespeare  so  uses  as  :  in  Meas.  for  Meas.,  V,  i,  70,  Isabella  declares  Lucio 
to  have  been  *  as  then  the  messenger;'  in  Sonn.  xlvi,  'The  clear  eye's  moiety  and 
die  dear  heart's  part'  is  determinad  ^  as  thus ;^  ami  the  reading  of  F,  in  Twelltb 
Nigh',  II,  ii,  ^•^,  may  stand,  if  we  consider  'such  as'  to  be  a  composite  form  equiva 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  295 

To  help  to  take  her  from  her  borrow'd  grave, 

Being  the  time  t)ie  potion's  force  should  cease. 

But  he  which  bore  my  letter,  Friar  John, 

Was  stay'd  by  accident,  and  yesternight  250 

Return'd  my  letter  back.     Then  all  alone 

At  the  prefixed  hour  of  her  waking 

Came  I  to  take  her  from  her  kindred's  vault, 

Meaning  to  keep  her  closely  at  my  cell 

Till  I  conveniently  could  send  to  Romeo:  255 

But  when  I  came,  some  minute  ere  the  time 

Of  her  awaking,  here  untimely  lay 

The  noble  Paris  and  true  Romeo  dead. 

She  wakes,  and  I  entreated  her  come  forth, 

And  bear  this  work  of  heaven  with  patience  :  260 

But  then  a  noise  did  scare  me  from  the  tomb, 

And  she  too  desperate  would  not  go  with  me, 

247.  borrow'd'l  Capell.  borrowed  257.  awakirfl  a  waking  ¥^.  awak- 
QqFf.                                                                   ening  Q^,  Var.    Coll.    Ulr.    Del.   Sing. 

252.     hour'\  hower  Q^Q^.  Huds.  White,  Clarke,  Hal.  Ktly. 

waking'\    awaking    Rowe  (ed.  259.     entreated  her'\  intreat  her  to 

2)*,  &c.  Capell.  F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

256.     minute'\  minutes  Han.  261.     scare'\  scarre  F  F  . 

lent  to  '  precisely  such  :'  '  Alas !  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we ;  For  such-as  we 
are  made,  if  such  we  be.^ 

Abboit  {'Shakespearian  Grammar,^  1870,  p.  79),  As  is  apparently  used  redun- 
dantly with  definitions  of  time  (as  wf  is  used  in  Greek  with  respect  to  motion).  It 
is  said  by  Halliwell  to  be  an  Eastern  Counties'  phrase  :  '  This  is  my  birthday,  as  this 
very  day  Was  Cassius  bom.' — Jul.  Cses.,  V,  i,  72 ;  Meas.  for  Meas.,  V,  i,  74.  The 
as  in  the  first  example  may  be  intended  to  qualify  the  statement  that  Cassius  was 
bom  on  '  this  very  day,'  which  is  not  literally  true,  as  meaning  '  as  I  may  say.' 
Here,  and  in  our  Collect  for  Christmas  Day,  '  as  at  this  time  to  be  bom,'  as  seems 
appropriate  to  an  anniversary.  In  the  second  example  the  meaning  of  '  as  then' 
is  not  so  clear.     Perhaps  it  means  '  as  far  as  regards  that  occasion.'     Compare 

'  Yet  God  at  last 
To  Satan,  first  in  sin,  his  doom  applied, 
Though  in  mysterious  terms,  judged  as  then  best.' — Milton,  P.  L.,  x,  173,  ■ 

where  '  as  then'  seems  to  mean  •  for  the  present.'  So  '  as  yet'  means  *  as  far  as 
regards  time  up  to  the  present  time.'  So  in  German,  '  als  dann'  means  '  then,'  and 
'  als'  is  applied  to  other  temporal  adverbs.  As  in  Early  English  was  often  prefixed 
to  dates :  'As  in  the  year  of  grace,'  &c.  'As  now'  is  often  used  in  Chaucer  and 
earlier  writers  for  •  as  regards  now,'  '  for  the  present :'  '  But  al  that  thing  I  must  as 
now  forbere.' — Chauc,  Knights  Tale,  27.  In  Rom.  and  Jul.,  V,  iii,  246,  as  perhaps 
means  'as  (he  did  come).' 

248.  Being  the  time]  Del.   This  belongs  to  '  as  this  dire  night.' 


296  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [ACT  v,  sc.  HI 

But,  as  it  seems,  did  violence  on  herself. 

All  this  I  know ;  and  to  the  marriage 

Her  nurse  is  privy :  and,  if  aught  in  this  265 

Miscarried  by  my  fault,  let  my  old  life 

Be  sacrificed  some  hour  before  his  time 

Unto  the  rigour  of  severest  law. 

Pnnce.     We  still  have  known  thee  for  a  holy  man. — 
Where's  Romeo's  man  ?  what  can  he  say  in  this  ?  270 

Bal.     I  brought  my  master  news  of  Juliet's  death, 
And  then  in  post  he  came  from  Mantua 
To  this  same  place,  to  this  same  monument. 
This  letter  he  early  bid  me  give  his  father, 

And  threaten'd  me  with  death,  going  in  the  vault,  275 

If  I  departed  not  and  left  him  there. 

Prijice.     Give  me  the  letter ;  I  will  look  on  it. — 
Where  is  the  County's  page,  that  raised  the  watch  ? — 
Sirrah,  what  made  your  master  in  this  place? 

Page.     He  came  with  flowers  to  strew  his  lady's  grave ;      280 
And  bid  me  stand  aloof,  and  so  I  did : 
Anon  comes  one  with  light  to  ope  the  tomb ; 
And  by  and  by  my  master  drew  on  him  ; 
And  then  I  ran  away  to  call  the  watch. 

Prince.     This  letter  doth  make  good  the  friar's  words,         285 

264-267.     All  this...time\    Arranged  269.     a]  an  F^,  Rowe,  &c. 

as  by  Pope.    Three  lines,  ending /rzVii'.  270.     in  this'\   (QJ   Capell.     to  thii 

...fault, ...time,  in  QqFf.  QqFf,  Rowe,  &c.  Knt.  Sta. 

265.     Her  nurse\  the  nurse  Q^.  271.     Bal.]    Boy.  Ff.     Peter.  Rowe, 

and'\  cm.  Rowe.    but  Pope,  &c.  Pope. 

267.     hh'\  Qj.     the  The  rest,  Rowe,  273.    place,    to.... monument. '\    place. 

Theob.  Warb.  Johns.   Knt.     its   Pope,  To. ..monument  Q^QjQ^. 

Han.  275.     ?■«]  to  Pope,  &c. 

272.  in  post]  Ulr.  Sh.  uses  this  phrase  frequently  and  in  different  connections, 
in  order  to  express  the  utmost  haste,  probably  because  in  his  time  whatever  of  postal 
arrangements  existed  were  used  only  in  the  weightiest  and  speediest  affairs. 

274.  This  letter,  &c.]  S.  Walker  ('  Vers.^  p.  67)  cites  this  line  as  an  instance 
of  the  frequent  contraction  into  one  syllable  of  certain  classes  of  words,  the  greater 
part  of  them  composed  of  two  short  syllables.  This  takes  place  chiefly  when  thev 
are  followed  by  a  vowel,  or  when  placed  in  monosyllabic  places  in  the  line. 

275.  letter  he]  Abbott  ('5/4. '«  Grammar  (ed.  3),  1870,  p.  346).  Er,  el,  xnd 
U  final  are  dropped  or  softened,  especially  before  vowels  or  silent  /;.  The  syllabic 
er,  as  in  Utter,  is  easily  interchangeable  with  re,  as  lettre.  In  Old  English,  •  bettre' 
is  found  for  '  better.'    Thus  words  frequently  drop  or  soften  -er ;  and  in  like  manner 

W  and   le,  especiallj  before  a  vowel  or  h  in  the  next  word. 


ACT  y,  SC.  iii.]  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  297 

Their  course  of  love,  the  tidings  of  her  death : 

And  here  he  writes  that  he  did  buy  a  poison 

Of  a  poor  'pothecary,  and  therewithal 

Came  to  this  vault  to  die  and  lie  with  Juliet. — 

Where  be  these  enemies  ? — Capulet ! — Montague !  290 

See,  what  a  scourge  is  laid  upon  your  hate. 

That  heaven  finds  means  to  kill  your  joys  with  love ! 

And  I,  for  winking  at  your  discords  too, 

Have  lost  a  brace  of  kinsmen :  all  are  punish'd. 

Cap.     O  brother  Montague,  give  me  thy  hand :  295 

This  is  my  daughter's  jointure,  for  no  more 
Can  I  demand. 

Mon.  But  I  can  give  thee  more : 

For  I  will  raise  her  statue  in  pure  gold ; 
That  while  Verona  by  that  name  is  known 
There  shall  no  figure  at  such  rate  be  set  3C0 

As  that  of  true  and  faithful  Juliet. 

297.  [They  shake  hands.]  Coll.  (ed.         Knt.  Sta.  Cambr. 

2)  (MS.)  300.    sucKl  Q^.   thai  The  rest,  Rowe, 

298.  raise]  raie  Q^Qj.  &c.  Knt. 

299.  while]    Rowe.      whiles   QqFf,  301.     true]  fair  Coll.  (MS.)  Ulr. 

294.  brace  of  kinsmen]  Mal.  Mercutio  and  Paris :  Mercutio  is  expressly 
called  the  prince's  kinsman  in  III,  i,  105,  and  that  Paris  also  was  the  prince's  kins- 
man may  be  inferred  from  III,  iv,  180,  '  a  gentleman  oi  princely  parentage,'  and 
V,  iii,  75.     \_Sing,  Huds.  Hal. 

Steev.  The  sportsman's  term — brace,  which  on  the  present  occasion  is  seriously 
employed,  is  in  general  applied  to  men  in  contempt.  Thus  Prospero  in  The  Tem- 
pest, addressing  himself  to  Sebastian  and  Antonio,  says :  '  But,  you,  my  brace  of 
lords,  were  I  so  minded,'  &c.     \_Hal. 

294.  all  are  punished]  Mommsen.  This  contains  the  moral  of  the  whoie 
tragedy. 

297.  Can  I  demand]  Coll.  (ed.  2).  We  might  infer  that  they  shook  hands,  or 
embraced,  but  the  (MS.)  tells  it  to  us  in  so  many  words,  in  order  to  make  sure  that 
this  part  of  the  business  of  the  scene  was  not  neglected  by  the  actors. 

295.  O  brother  Montague]  Coleridge  {'Lit.  Rem.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  158).  How 
beautiful  is  the  close!  The  spring  and  the  winter  meet; — winter  assumes  the 
character  of  spring,  and  spring  the  sadness  of  winter. 

301.  true  and  faithful]  Coll.  ['Notes  and  Emend.').  The  words  'true  and 
faithful'  are  indisputably  tautologous,  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  Sh,  left  the  line  as 
we  read  it  with  the  change  introduced  by  the  (MS.).  We  can  suppose  '  true  and 
faithful'  a  corruption  introduced  on  the  frequent  repetition  of  this  popular  perform- 
ance, although  the  alliteration  of  '  fair  and  faithful '  may  seem  more  impressive  upon 
the  memory. 

Coll.  (ed.  2      We  do  not  run  the  risk  of  altering  the  words  which  the  poet  may 


298  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  8C  iU. 

Cap.     As  rich  shall  Romeo  by  his  lady  lie ; 
Poor  sacrifices  of  our  enmity  ! 

Prince.     A  glooming  peace  this  morning  with  it  brings ; 

"  The  sun  for  sorrow  will  not  show  his  head ;  30^ 

Go  hence,  to  have  more  talk  of  these  sad  things ; 

Some  shall  be  pardon'd  and  some  punished : 
For  never  was  a  stor>'  of  more  woe 
Than  this  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo.  [Exeunt. 

302.     Romeo. ...lady']     (Q,)Ff.       Ro-  (ed.  2).    gloaming  Taylor  conj.  MS.* 

meos... Ladies   QjQ.Q..      Romeo's.... La-  307.    pardon'd]  pardoned  Qq. 

dits  Q  .     Romeo's. ..lady  Theob.  Warb.  309.     [Exeunt.]    Exeunt  omnes.  PL 

Johns.    Romeo's. ..lady's  Cambr.  om.  Qq. 

304.     glooming]    gloomy    F^,    Dyce 

have  used ;  at  the  same  time  the  tautology  of  '  true  and  faithful '  is  evident,  and  the 
emendation  of  the  (MS.)  plausible.  Even  the  alliteration  in  this  line  may  possibly 
have  recommended  the  words  to  Sh. 

304.  glooming]  Steev.  To  gloom  is  an  ancient  verb  used  by  Spenser,  and 
likewise  in  Tom  Tyler  and  his  Wife,  1 661 :  '  If  either  he  gaspeth  or  gloometh^ 
\^Sing.  Huds. 

White.  'Gloomie'  of  (QJ  should  perhaps  be  followed,  'glooming'  being  possibly 
a  misprint  induced  by  '  morning'  in  the  same  line. 

307.  Some  shall,  &c.]  Steev.  This  line  has  reference  to  the  novel  from  which 
the  fable  is  taken.  Here  we  read  that  Juliet's  female  attendant  was  banished  for 
concealing  the  marriage  ;  Romeo's  servant  set  at  liberty  because  he  had  only  acted 
in  obedience  to  his  master's  orders ;  the  Apothecary  taken,  tortured,  condemned,  and 
hanged ;  while  Friar  Laurence  was  permitted  to  retire  to  a  hermitage  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Verona,  where  he  ended  his  life  in  penitence  and  tranquillity.  \^Sing, 
Huds.  St  a.  Clarke. 

Knt.  The  government  of  the  Scaligers,  or  Scalas,  commenced  in  1259,  when 
Mastino  de  la  Scala  was  elected  Podesti  of  Verona;  and  it  lasted  113  years  in  the 
legitimate  descendants  of  the  first  Podesti.  [Here  follows  a  representation  of  the 
tomb  of  this  illustrious  family  at  Verona,  from  an  original  sketch.] 

309.  Than  this,  &c.]  Steev.  Sh.  has  not  effected  the  alteration  of  this  play  by 
introducing  any  new  incidents,  but  merely  by  adding  to  the  length  of  the  scenes. 

The  piece  appears  to  have  been  always  a  very  popular  one.     Marston,  in  his 

Satires,  1598,  says  : 

'  Luscus,  what's  play'd  to  day? — feith,  now  I  know 
I  set  thy  lips  abroach,  from  whence  doth  flow 
Nought  but  pure  Juliet  and  Romeo.'  [Sing. 

Max..  These  lines  seem  to  have  been  formed  on  the  concluding  couplet  of  Ihe 
poem  of  Romeus  and  Juliet : 

' among  the  monumentes  that  in  Verona  been. 

There  is  no  monument  more  worthy  of  the  sight, 

Then  is  the  tombe  of  Juliet  and  Komeus  her  knight'    [Stng. 

Dr   Johnson.   This  play  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  of  our  author's  performances 


^c±'V,  sc.  iii.J  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  299 

The  scenes  are  busy  and  various,  the  incidents  numerous  and  important,  the  catcs- 
trophe  irresistibly  affecting,  and  the  process  of  the  action  carried  on  with  such  prob- 
ability, at  least  with  such  congruity  to  popular  opinions,  as  tragedy  requires. 

Here  is  one  of  the  few  attempts  of  Sh.  to  exhibit  the  conversation  of  gentlemen, 
to  represent  the  airy  sprightliness  of  juvenile  elegance.  Dryden  mentions  a  tradi- 
tion, which  might  easily  reach  his  time,  of  a  declaration  made  by  Sh.,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  kill  Mercutio  in  the  third  Act,  lest  he  should  have  been  killed  by  him.  Yet 
he  thinks  him  no  such  formidable  person  but  that  he  might  have  lived  through  the 
fplay,  and  died  in  his  bed,  without  danger  to  the  poet.  Dryden  well  knew,  had  he 
been  in  quest  of  truth,  in  a  pointed  sentence,  that  more  regard  is  commonly  had  to 
the  words  than  the  thought,  and  that  it  is  very  seldom  to  be  rigorously  understood. 
Mercutio's  wit,  gaiety,  and  courage  will  always  procure  him  friends  that  wish  him  a 
longer  life :  but  his  death  is  not  precipitated,  he  has  lived  out  the  time  allotted  him 
in  the  construction  of  the  play;  nor  do  1  doubt  the  ability  of  Sh.  to  have  continued 
his  existence,  though  some  of  his  sallies  are  perhaps  out  of  the  reach  of  Dryden, 
whose  genius  was  not  very  fertile  of  merriment,  nor  ductile  to  humour,  but  acute, 
argumentative,  comprehensive,  and  sublime. 

The  Nurse  is  one  of  the  characters  in  which  the  author  delighted  :  he  has,  with 
great  subtility  of  distinction,  drawn  her  at  once  loquacious  and  secret,  obsequious 
and  insolent,  trusty  and  dishonest. 

His  comic  scenes  are  happily  wrought,  but  his  pathetic  strains  are  always  polluted 
with  some  unexpected  depravations.  His  persons,  however  distressed,  have  a  con- 
ceit left  them  in  their  misery — a  miserable  conceit. 

Steevkns.  This  last  quotation  of  Dr.  Johnson's  is  also  found  m  the  Preface  to 
Dryden's  Fables:  'Just  yohn  Littlewit  in  Bartholome-M  /azV,  who  had  a  conceit 
(as  he  tells  you)  left  him  in  his  misery;  a  miserable  conceit.' 

Singer.  This  last  remark  of  Dr.  Johnson's  has  been  answered  at  length,  and,  as 
I  think,  satisfactorily,  by  A.  W.  Schlegel  in  a  detailed  criticism  of  this  tragedy,  pub- 
lished in  the  Iloren,  a  journal  conducted  by  Schiller  in  1794-1795,  and  made  acces- 
sible to  the  English  reader  in  Ollier's  Literary  Miscellany,  Part  I.  In  his  Lectures 
on  Dramatic  Literature  (vol.  ii,  p.  135,  Eng.  trans.)  will  be  found  some  further  sen- 
sible remarks  upon  the  '  conceits'  here  stigmatized.  It  should  be  remembered  that 
playing  on  words  was  a  very  favorite  species  of  wit  combat  with  our  ancestors. 
'  With  children,  as  well  as  nations  of  the  most  simple  manners,  a  great  inclination 
to  playing  on  words  is  often  displayed  [they  cannot  therefore  be  both  puerile  and 
unnatural.  If  the  first  charge  is  founded  the  second  cannot  be  so].  In  Homer  yi« 
find  several  examples  :  the  Books  of  Moses,  the  oldest  written  memorial  of  the  primi- 
tive woild,  are,  it  is  well  known,  full  of  them.  On  the  other  hand,  poets  of  a  very 
cultivated  taste,  or  orators  like  Cicero,  have  delighted  in  them.  Whoever  in  Richard 
the  Second  is  disgusted  with  the  affecting  play  of  words  of  the  dying  John  of  Gaunt 
on  his  own  name,  let  him  remember  that  the  same  thing  occurs  in  the  Ajax  of 
Sophocles. 

Coleridge  ('Z?V.  Rem.^  vol.  ii,  p.  77).  The  stage  in  Sh.'s  time  was  a  naked  roon 
with  a  blanket  for  a  curtain ;  but  he  made  it  a  field  for  rnonarchs.  That  law  oi 
unity  which  has  its  foundations,  not  in  the  factitious  necessity  of  custom,  but  in 
nature  itself,  the  unity  of  feeling,  is  everywhere  and  at  all  times  observed  by  Sh.  ip 
his  plays.  Read  Romeo  and  Juliet;  all  is  youth  and  spring;  youth  with  its  follies 
its  virtues,  its  precipitancies;  spring  with  its  odours,  its  flowers,  and  its  transiency. 
it  is  one  and  the  same  feeling  that  commences,  goes  through,  and  ends  the  play. 


300  ROMEO   AND   JULIET.  [act  v,  sc.  iL 

The  old  men,  the  Capulets  and  the  Montagues,  are  not  common  old  men ;  they  have 
an  eagerness,  a  heartiness,  a  vehemence,  the  effect  of  spring ;  with  Romeo,  his 
change  of  passion,  his  sudden  marriage,  and  his  rash  death  are  all  the  effects  ot 
youth ;  whilst  in  Juliet  love  has  all  that  is  tender  and  melancholy  in  the  nightingale, 
all  that  is  voluptuous  in  the  rose,  with  whatever  is  sweet  in  the  freshness  of  spring; 
but  it  ends  with  a  long,  deep  sigh  like  the  last  breeze  of  the  Italian  evening.  This 
unit}'  of  feeling  and  character  pervades  every  drama  of  Sh. 

ScHLEGEL.  Whatever  is  most  intoxicating  in  the  odour  of  a  southern  spring,  lan- 
guishing in  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  or  voluptuous  in  the  first  opening  of  the 
rose,  is  breathed  into  this  poem.  But  even  more  rapidly  than  the  earliest  blossoms 
of  youth  and  beauty  decay,  it  hurries  on  fron.  the  first  timidly-bold  declaration  of 
love  and  modest  return  to  the  most  unlimited  passion,  to  an  irrevocable  union  :  then, 
amidst  alternating  storms  of  rapture  and  despair,  to  the  death  of  the  two  lovers,  who 
still  appear  enviable  as  their  love  survives  them,  and  as  by  their  death  they  have 
obtained  a  triumph  over  every  separating  power.  The  sweetest  and  the  bitterest, 
love  and  hatred,  festivity  and  dark  forebodings,  tender  embraces  and  sepulchres,  the 
fulness  of  life  and  self-annihilation,  are  all  here  brought  close  to  each  other;  and 
all  these  contrasts  are  so  blended,  in  the  harmonious  and  beautiful  work,  into  a  unity 
of  impression  that  the  echo  which  the  whole  leaves  behind  in  the  mind  resembles  a 
single  but  endless  sigh. 

Hazlitt.  This  description  [of  Schlegel's]  is  true,  and  yet  it  does  not  come  up  to 
our  idea  of  the  play.  For  if  it  has  the  sweetness  of  the  rose,  it  has  its  freshness 
too ;  if  it  has  the  languor  of  the  nightingale's  song,  it  has  also  its  giddy  transport ; 
if  it  has  the  softness  of  a  southern  spring,  it  is  as  glowing  and  as  bright.  There  is 
nothing  of  a  sickly,  sentimental  cast.  Romeo  and  Juliet  are  in  love  but  they  are 
not  love-sick.  Everything  speaks  the  very  soul  of  pleasure,  the  high  and  healthy 
pulse  of  the  passions :  the  heart  beats  and  the  blood  circulates  and  mantles  through- 
out. Their  courtship  is  not  an  insipid  interchange  of  sentiments  lip-deep,  learnt  at 
second-hand  from  poems  and  plays — made  up  of  beauties  of  the  most  shadowy 
kind,  of  *  fancies  wan/  of  evanescent  smiles  and  sighs  that  breathe  not,  of  delicacy 
that  shrinks  from  the  touch,  and  feebleness  that  scarce  supports  itself,  an  elaborate 
vacuity  of  thought,  and  an  artificial  dearth  of  sense,  spirit,  truth,  and  nature !  It  is 
the  reverse  of  all  this.     It  is  Sh.  all  over,  and  Sh.  when  he  was  young. 

Hartley  Coleridge.  {'Essays^  Sec,  vol.  ii,  p.  198).  There  is  something  hasty 
and  inconsiderate  in  these  last  scenes.  Perhaps  no  human  genius  can  grapple  with 
such  aggregated  disaster.  Words  cannot  express  the  horror  of  such  judicial  calami- 
tics  which  overswell  the  capacity  of  conscious  grief,  and  must  needs  produce  mad- 
ness or  stupefaction,  or,  likely  enough,  demoniac  scorn  and  laughter.  The  recon- 
ciliation of  the  parents  seems  to  me  more  moral  than  natural.  I  doubt  if  real  hatred 
is  ever  cured.  As  for  the  golden  statues,  they  are  not  so  good  a  monument  as  the 
sweetnriars  growing  from  the  common  grave  of  hapless  lovers  in  so  many  old  ballads. 
Garrick  has  certainly  deepened  and  humanized  the  pathos  by  making  Juliet  awake 
before  Romeo  dies,  which  I  believe  is  according  to  the  original  story. 

Chambers.  Byron,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Moore,  says:  Of  the  truth  of  Juliet's 
story  'hey  (the  Veronese)  seem  tenacious  to  a  degree, — insisting  on  the  fact,  giving 
a  date  (1303),  and  showing  a  tomb.  It  is  a  plain,  open,  and  partly  decayed  sar- 
cophagus, with  withered  leaves  in  it,  in  a  wild  and  desolate  conventual  garden,  once 
a  cemetery,  now  ruined  to  the  very  graves.  The  situation  struck  me  as  very  apnro- 
pria'*-  *o  the  leijcnd,  being  blighted  as  their  love. 


[In  the  following  Reprint  of  the  Quarto  of  1597  I  have  adhered  with  the  most 
Bciupulous  exactness  to  Mr  Ashbee's  Facsimile  of  1866,  executed  under  the  super- 
vision of  Mr  HalliwelL 

At  the  foot  of  each  page  will  be  found  some  of  the  results  of  a  thorough  colla- 
tion of  Steevens's,  Mommsen's,  and  the  Cambridge  Editors'  Reprints.  To  give  all 
the  varia  lectiones  would  be  both  tedious  and  unprofitable.  Steevens,  for  instance, 
utterly  disregards  the  use  of  capital  letters  except  for  proper  names.  Throughout 
the  play  I  can  remember  but  one  exception ;  namely,  •  Lent'  in  line  932.  Not  even 
upon  a  Saint  does  he  bestow  this  dignity.  In  his  stage-directions  proper  names  are 
almost  uniformly  printed  in  Roman  letters,  and  in  this  respect  he  is  as  uniformly  fol- 
lowed by  Prof.  Mommsen,  He  furthermore  separates  words  which  are  printed  as 
one  in  the  original,  and  unites  words  which  are  sometimes  printed  as  two,  e.  g.,  ska^ 
be  for  '  shalbe,'  and  asleepe  for  '  a  sleepe.' 

The  most  noteworthy  discrepancy  in  Prof.  Mommsen's  Reprint  is  the  omission  of 
two  entire  consecutive  lines. 

In  the  Reprint  of  the  Cambridge  Edition  I  have  noted  only  about  fifty  variations 
from  Mr  Halliwell's  Facsimile ;  the  majority  of  them  are  very  trifling,  and  consist 
chiefly  in  the  use  of  a  period  for  a  comma,  or  the  reverse.  To  distinguish  these  two 
marks  of  punctuation  in  the  thick,  heavy  printing  of  the  Quarto  is  often  a  matter  of 
much  doubt,  and  although  the  Cambridge  Editors  are  as  likely  to  be  correct  as  Mr 
Ashbee,  I  am  bound  to  follow  the  Facsimile.  I  have  not  noted  the  running  together 
of  separate  words,  because  it  happens  to  be  a  point  upon  which,  in  many  cases,  two 
persons  might  disagree  even  with  the  same  copy  before  them.  In  John  Banter's 
printing-ofiice  there  seems  to  have  been  a  plentiful  lack  of  'spaces;'  many  a  line 
being  printed  as  one  unbroken  word. 

In  short,  only  those  varies  lectiones  are  given  which  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
original  copies  from  which  the  three  Reprints  were  made  vary  one  from  another. 

Whenever  the  characters  on  the  stage  retire,  and  their  places  are  taken  by  others, 
the  Cambridge  Editors  indicate  the  change  in  the  margin  by  a  series  of  Scenes, 
from  I  to  XXII,  and  they  number  the  lines  with  reference  to  these  Scenes. 

S.  stands  for  Steevens's  Reprint,  1766;  M.  stands  for  Mommsen's,  1859;  C.  repre- 
I'-nts  the  Cambridge  Edition,  1865.]   Ed. 

Ml 


i!^^^2^^^^\^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^i^ 

^M 

Iw®^  J^^^^W^^^S^P^JW^^- 

#^^^ 

¥^^ 

f^Bj^f^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^i^^^^^^L'^'^^^^^^^ 

M^R 

A  N 

EXCELLENT 

conceited    1  ragedie 

0  F 

ivomeo  and  luliet* 

As  it  hath  been  often  (with  great  applaufe) 
plaidpubliquely,  by  the  right  Ho- 
nourable the  L.  Q){  Hiinjdon 
his  Seruants. 


It^IGNETTE, 


WITH  THE  Motto  :) 


AVT  NVNC  AVT  NVNQVAA 


LONDON, 

Printed  by  lohn  Daa 

t  597 


The  Prologue. 

TWO  houjhold  Frends  alike  in  dignitie, 
{In  faire  Verona,  where  we  lay  our  Seem) 
From  ciuill  broyles  broke  into  enmitie, 
VVhofe  ciuill  warre  makes  ciuill  hands  vncleane. 
From  forth  the  fatall  loynes  of  thefe  two  foes, 
A  paire  of  flarre-crofl  Louers  tooke  their  life : 
VVhofe  mifaduentures,  piteous  ouerthrowes, 
{Through  the  continuing  of  their  Fathers  flrife. 
And  death-markt  paffage  of  their  Parents  rage) 
Is  now  the  two  howres  traffique  of  our  Stage. 
The  which  if  you  with  patient  eares  attend, 
What  here  we  want  wee'  I fludie  to  amend. 


8C4 


The  moft  excellent  Tragedie  of 
Romeo  and  luliet. 

Enter  2.  Seruing-men  of  the  Capolets. 

GRegorie,  of  my  word  He  carrie  no  coales. 
2     No,  for  if  you  doo,  you  fhould  be  a  Collier. 

1  If  I  be  in  choler,  He  draw. 

2  Euer  while  you  Hue,  drawe  your  necke  out  of  the 

the  collar.  5 

1  I  flrike  quickly  being  moou'd. 

2  I,  but  you  are  not  quickly  moou'd  to  ftrike. 

1  A  Dog  of  the  houfe  of  the  Mountagues  moues  me. 

2  To  mooue  is  to  flirre,  and  to  bee  valiant  is  to  fland 

to  it :  therefore  (of  my  word)  if  thou  be  mooud  thou't  10 

runne  away. 

1  There's  not  a  man  of  them  I  meete,  but  He  take 
the  wall  of. 

2  That  fhewes  thee  a  weakling,  for  the  weakefl  goes 

to  the  wall.  15 

1  Thats  true,  therefore  He  thrufl  the  men  from  the 
wall,  and  thruft  the  maids  to  to  the  walls:  nay,  thou  fhalt 
fee  I  am  a  tall  peece  of  flefh. 

2  Tis  well  thou  art  not  fifh,  for  if  thou  wert  thou 
wouldd  be  but  poore  lohn.  30 

1  He  play  the  tyrant.  He  firft  begin  with  the  maids,  & 
off  with  their  hea<  s. 

2  The  heads  (  f  the  maids  ? 

1  I  the  heades  )f  their  Maides,  or  the  Maidenheades, 
take  it  in  what  fenci  thou  wilt.  35 

you  fliould]  yon  fhould   M.       7.    moou'd]  mou'd   S.       8.     A.  Dog]  Dog  S. 
26  •  U  305 


•--^ 


306  The  ffiojl  excellent  Tragedie, 

2     Nay  let  them  take  it  in  fence  that  feele  it,  but  heere 
comes  tvvo  of  the  Mountagues. 

Enter  two  Seruingrnen  of  the  Mountagues. 

1  Nay  feare  not  me  I  warrant  thee. 

2  I  feare  them  no  more  than  thee,  but  draw. 

1  Nay  let  vs  haue  the  law  on  our  fide,  let  them  begin  30 
firfl.     He  tell  thee  what  He  doo,  as  I  goe  by  ile  bite  my 
thumbe,  which  is  difgrace  enough  if  they  fuffer  it. 

2  Content,  goe  thou  by  and  bite  thy  thumbe,  and  ile 
come  after  and  frowne. 

/  Moun  :  Doo  you  bite  your  thumbe  at  vs  ?  35 

1  I  bite  my  thumbe. 

2  Moun  :   I  but  i'fl  at  vs  ? 

1  I  bite  my  thumbe,  is  the  law  on  our  fide  ? 

2  No. 

I     I  bite  my  thumbe.  40 

I     Moun :    I  but  i'ft  at  vs  ?  Enter  BeneuoHo. 

£     Say  I,  here  comes  my  Maflers  kinfman. 

'Ihey  draw,  to  them  etiters  Tybalt,  they  fight,  to  them  the 
Prince,  old  Mountague,  and  his  wife,  old  Capulet  and 
his  wife,  and  other  Citizens  and  part  them. 

Prince :    Rebellious  fubie(5ls  enemies  to  peace, 
On  paine  of  torture,  from  thofe  bloody  handes 
Tlirow  your  miflempered  weapons  to  the  ground.  45 

Three  Ciuell  brawles  bred  of  an  airie  word, 
By  the  old  Capulet  and  Mountague, 
Haue  thrice  difturbd  the  quiet  of  our  flreets. 
If  euer  you  diflurbe  our  (Ireets  againe, 

Your  Hues  (hall  pay  the  ranfome  of  your  fault :  50 

For  this  time  euery  man  depart  in  peace. 
Come  Capulet  come  you  along  with  me. 
And  Mouutague,  come  you  this  after  noone, 
To  know  our  farther  pleafure  in  this  cafe, 

To  old  free  Towne  our  common  iudgement  place,  55 

Once  more  on  paine  of  death  each  man  depart. 

Exeunt. 

M :  wife.  Who  fet  this  auncient  quarrel  firfl  abroach  ? 
Speake  Nephew,  were  you  by  when  it  began  ? 

Eenuo :  Here  were  the  feruants  of  your  aduerfaries, 

St.  Direct.    Mountagues]  Monntagues.    S.  M. 
53.     Mouutague]  Mountague    S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  3^7 

And  yours  clofe  fighting  ere  I  did  approch.  60 

Wife :  Ah  where  is  Romeo,  faw  you  him  to  day  ? 
Right  glad  I  am  he  was  not  at  this  fray. 

Ben :  Madame,  an  houre  before  the  worfhipt  funne 
Peept  through  the  golden  window  of  the  Eafl, 
A  troubled  thought  drew  me  from  companie  :  65 

Where  vnderneath  the  groue  Sicatnoure, 
That  Weflward  rooteth  from  the  Citties  fide, 
So  early  walking  might  I  fee  your  fonne. 
I  drew  towards  him,  but  he  was  ware  of  me, 
And  drew  into  the  thicket  of  the  wood :  70 

I  noting  his  afifeclions  by  mine  owne. 
That  moft.  are  bufied  when  th'  are  mofl  alcne, 
Purfued  my  honor,  not  purfuing  his. 

Moun :  Black  and  portentious  mufl  this  honor  proue, 
Vnleffe  good  counfaile  doo  the  caufe  remooue.  75 

£en :  Why  tell  me  Vncle  do  you  know  the  caufe  ? 
Enter  Romeo. 
Moun :  I  neyther  know  it  nor  can  learne  of  him. 
Ben :  See  where  he  is,  but  fland  you  both  afide, 
He  know  his  grieuance,  or  be  much  denied. 

Mojini:  I  would  thou  wert  fo  happie  by  thy  flay  80 

To  heare  true  fhrift.  Come  Madame  lets  away. 

Benuo:  Good  morrow  Cofen. 

Romeo :  Is  the  day  fo  young? 

Ben :    But  new  flroke  nine. 

Romeo:  Ay  me,  fad  hopes  feeme  long.  8$ 

Was  that  my  Father  that  went  hence  fo  fafl  ? 

Ben:    It  was,  what  forrow  lengthens  Romeos  houres? 

Rom :  Not  hauing  that,  which  hauing  makes  them 

Ben:    In  loue.  (fhort. 

Ro:    Out.  00 

Ben :    Of  loue. 

Ro :    Out  of  her  fauor  where  I  am  in  loue. 

Ben:  Alas  that  loue  fo  gentle  in  her  view. 
Should  be  fo  tyrranous  and  rough  in  proofe. 

Ro:  Alas  that  loue  whofe  view  is  muffled  flill,  95 

Should  without  lawes  giue  path-waies  to  our  will : 
Where  fhall  we  dine?     Gods  me,  what  fray  was  here? 
Yet  tell  me  not  for  I  haue  heard  it  all, 

66      Sicamouril  ficamoire    S.  67.     Citties]  cities    S.  M, 

87      houres]  hours    S. 


3o8  The  mojl  excellent  Tragedte, 

Heres  much  to  doe  with  hate,  but  more  with  loue. 

Why  then,  O  brawling  loue,  O  louing  hate,  loo 

O  anie  thing,  of  nothing  firfl  create  ! 

O  heauie  lightnes  ferious  vanitie  ! 

Milhapen  Caos  of  befl  feeming  thinges, 

Feather  of  lead,  bright  fmoke,  cold  fire,  ficke  health, 

Still  waking  fleepe,  that  is  not  what  it  is :  105 

This  loue  feele  I,  which  feele  no  loue  in  this. 

Doefl  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Ben :    No  Cofe  I  rather  weepe. 

Jiom :  Good  hart  at  what  ? 

Ben:  At  thy  good  hearts  opprefsion.  no 

Ro:    Why  fuch  is  loues  tranfgrefsion, 
Griefes  of  mine  owne  lie  heauie  at  my  hart. 
Which  thou  would  ft.  propagate  to  haue  them  prefl 
With  more  of  thine,  this  griefe  that  thou  haft,  (howne, 
Doth  ad  more  griefe  to  too  much  of  mine  owne :  115 

Loue  is  a  fmoke  raifde  with  the  fume  of  fighes 
Being  purgde,  a  fire  fparkling  in  louers  eyes : 
Being  vext,  a  fea  raging  with  a  louers  teares. 
What  is  it  elfe?   A  madnes  moft  difcreet, 
A  choking  gall,  and  a  preferuing  fweet.     Farewell  Cofe.  120 

Ben :    Nay  He  goe  along. 
And  if  you  hinder  me  you  doo  me  wrong. 

Bo :  Tut  I  haue  loft,  my  felfe  I  am  not  here, 
This  is  not  Borneo,  hee's  fome  other  where. 

Ben:  Tell  me  in  fadnes  whome  fhe  is  you  loue?  125 

Bo:  What  fhall  I  grone  and  tell  thee  ? 

Ben :  Why  no,  but  fadly  tell  me  who. 

Bo:    Bid  a  fickman  in  fadnes  make  his  will. 
Ah  word  ill  vrgde  to  one  that  is  fo  ill. 
In  fadnes  Cofen  I  doo  loue  a  woman.  130 

Ben:  I  aimde  fo  right,  when  as  you  faid  you  lou'd. 

Bo:    A  right  good  mark-man,  and  fhee's  faire  I  loue. 

Ben:  A  right  faire  marke  faire  Cofe  is  foonefl  hit. 

R^.-  But  in  that  hit  you  miffe,  fhee'le  not  be  hit 
With  Cupids  arrow,  fhe  hath  Dianaes  wit,  135 

And  in  ft.rong  proofe  of  chaftitie  well  arm'd : 
Gainft.  Cupids  childifh  bow  (he  Hues  vnharm'd, 
Shee'le  not  abide  the  fiedge  of  louing  tearmes. 
Nor  ope  her  lap  to  Saint  feducing  gold, 

115.     owne:]  owne.    S.  M.  128.     fadncsl  fadnefs    S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luUet.  3^ 

Ah  fhe  is  rich  i.i  beautie,  only  poore,  140 

That  when  (he  dies  with  beautie  dies  her  (lore.     Exeu. 

Enter  Countie  Paris,  old  Capulet. 
Of  honorable  reckoning  are  they  both, 
And  pittie  tis  they  liue  at  ods  fo  long : 
But  leaning  that,  what  fay  you  to  my  fute  ? 
— ^  Capu:  What  fhould  I  fay  more  than  I  faid  before,  145 

My  daughter  is  a  flranger  in  the  world, 
Shee  hath  not  yet  attainde  to  fourteene  yeares : 
Let  two  more  fommers  wither  in  their  pride. 
Before  fhe  can  be  thought  fit  for  a  Bride. 

Paris :  Younger  than  fhe  are  happie  mothers  maae.  1  ^o 

— ^-  Cap :  But  too  foone  marde  are  thefe  fo  early  maried : 

But  wooe  her  gentle  Pan's,  get  her  heart. 
My  word  to  her  confent  is  but  a  part. 
This  night  I  hold  an  old  accuflom'd  Feafl, 

Whereto  I  haue  inuited  many  a  gueft,  155 

Such  as  I  loue :  yet  you  among  the  flore. 
One  more  mofl  welcome  makes  the  number  more. 
At  my  poore  houfe  you  (hall  behold  this  night, 
Earth  treadding  (lars,  that  make  darke  heauen  light : 
Such  comfort  as  doo  lufly  youngmen  feele,  160 

When  well  apparaild  Aprill  on  the  heele 
Of  lumping  winter  treads,  euen  fuch  delights 
Amongd  fre(h  female  buds  (hall  you  this  night 
Inherit  at  my  houfe,  heare  all,  all  fee. 

And  like  her  mod,  whofe  merite  mod  (halbe.  105 

Such  amongd  view  of  many  myne  beeing  one. 
May  dand  in  number  though  in  reckoning  none. 

Enter  Seruingman. 
Where  are  you  firra,  goe  trudge  about 
Through  faire  Verona  dreets,  and  feeke  them  out : 
Whofe  names  are  written  here  and  to  them  fay,  170 

My  houfe  and  welcome  at  their  pleafure  day. 

Exeunt. 

Ser:  Seeke  them  out  whofe  names  are  written  here, 
and  yet  I  knowe  not  who  are  written  here:  I  mud  to 
the  learned  to  learne  of  them,  that's  as  much  to  fay,  as 
the  Taylor  mud  meddle  with  his  Lade,  the  Shoomaker  175 
with  his  needle,  the  Painter  with  his  nets,  and  the  Fifher 
with  his  PenfiU,  I  mud  to  the  learned. 

167.     S\  ruingntdtt]  Seruingmen     S.  M.  174.     as  the  Taylor]  the  taylor     5. 


3IO  The  mojl  excellent  Tragedie, 

Enter  Benuolio  and  Romeo. 

Ben:  Tut  man  one  fire  burnes  out  anothers  burning 
One  paine  is  lefTned  with  anothers  anguifh : 

Turne  backward,  and  be  holp  with  backward  turning,  i8o 

One  defperate  griefe  cures  with  anothers  languifh. 
Take  thou  fome  new  infe6tion  to  thy  eye, 
And  the  ranke  poyfon  of  the  old  will  die. 

Romeo:  Your  Plan  ton  leafe  is  excellent  for  that. 

Ben:  For  what?  185 

Romeo :  For  your  broken  (hin. 

Ben :  Why  Romeo  art  thou  mad  ? 

Rom:  Not  mad,  but  bound  more  than  a  mad  man  is. 
Shut  vp  in  prifon,  kept  without  my  foode, 
Whipt  and  tormented,  and  Godden  good  fellow.  iqo 

Ser:  Godgigoden,  I  pray  fir  can  you  read, 

Rom:    I  mine  owne  fortune  in  my  miferie. 

Ser:  Perhaps  you  haue  learned  it  without  booke: 
but  I  pray  can  you  read  any  thing  you  fee  ? 

Rom:    I  if  I  know  the  letters  and  the  language.  195 

Seru :    Yee  fay  honeflly,  reft  you  merrie. 

Rom:    Stay  fellow  I  can  read. 

He  reads  the  Letter. 

SEigneur  Martino  and  his  wife  and  daughters,  Countie 
Anfelme  and  his  beauteous  fijlers,  the  Ladie  widdow  of 

Vtruuio,  Seigneur  Placentio,  a7id  his  louelie  Neeces.,         200 
Mercutio  and  his  brother  Valentine ,  mine  vncle  Capu- 
let  his  wife  and  daughters ,  my  fair e  Neece  Rofaline  and 
Liuia,  Seigneur  Valentio  and  his  Cofen  Tibalt,   Lucio 
and  the  liuelie  Hellena. 
A  faire  aflembly,  whether  (hould  they  come  ?  205 

Ser:    Vp. 

R^ ;    Whether  to  fupper  ? 

Ser:    To  our  houfe. 

Ri?,-    Whofe  houfe? 

Ser:    My  Mafters.  210 

R^ .-    Indeed  I  fhould  haue  askt  thee  that  before. 

Ser:  Now  il'e  tel  you  without  asking.  MyMafteris 
the  great  rich  Capulet,  and  if  you  be  not  of  the  houfe  of 
Mountagues,  I  pray  come  and  crufh  a  cup  of  wine.  Reft 
you  merrie.  215 

Ben :    At  this  fame  auncient  feaft  of  Capulets, 


178.     burning]  burning,     S.  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  \\.\ 

Sups  the  faire  'Kofaline  whom  thou  fo  loues . 

With  all  the  admired  beauties  of  Verona, 

Goe  thither  and  with  vnattainted  eye, 

Compare  her  face  with  fome  that  I  fhall  Ihew,  230 

And  I  will  make  thee  thinke  thy  fwan  a  crow. 

R^  .•    When  the  deuout  religion  of  mine  eye 
Maintaines  fuch  falfhood,  then  turne  teares  to  fire, 
And  thefe  who  often  drownde  could  neuer  die, 
Tranfparent  Heretiques  be  burnt  for  liers  225 

One  fairer  than  my  loue,  the  all  feeing  fonne 
Nere  faw  her  match,  fince  firfl  the  world  begun. 

Ben :    Tut  you  faw  her  faire  none  els  being  by. 
Her  felfe  poyfd  with  her  felfe  in  either  eye  : 
But  in  that  Criftall  fcales  let  there  be  waide,  230 

Your  Ladyes  loue,  againfl  fome  other  maide 
That  I  will  (hew  you  (hining  at  this  feafl, 
And  fhe  fhall  fcant  fhew  well  that  now  feemes  befl. 

J?om :  He  goe  along  no  fuch  fight  to  be  fhowne. 
But  to  reioyce  in  fplendor  of  mine  owne.  235 

Enter  Capulets  wife  and  Nurce. 
>  Wife :    Nurce  wher's  my  daughter  call  her  forth  to 

mee. 

Nurce :  Now  by  my  maiden  head  at  twelue  yeare  old  I 
bad  her  come,  what  Lamb,  what  Ladie  bird,  God  forbid. 
VVher's  this  girle  ?  what  luliet.  Enter  luliet.  240 

luliet :    How  now  who  cals  ? 

Nurce :     Your  Mother. 

Jul:    Madame  I  am  here,  what  is  your  will? 

VV:    This  is  the  matter,    Nurfe  giue  leaue  a  while,  we 
mull  talke  in  fecret.     Nurce  come  back  again  I  haue  re-         245 
membred  me,  thou'fe  heare  our  counfaile.     Thou  know 
eft  my  daughters  of  a  prettie  age. 

Nurce :    Faith  I  can  tell  her  age  vnto  a  houre. 
^_=^  Wife :    Shee's  not  fourteene. 

Nnrce  :    He  lay  fourteene  of  my  teeth,  and  yet  to  my         250 
teene  be  it  fpoken,  I  haue  but  four e,  Jhee"  s  not  fourteene. 
How  long  is  it  now  to  Lammas-tide  ? 
«»=?»  Wife :    A  fortnight  and  odde  dayes. 

225.     Hers]  liers.     C. 

238.     All  the  Nurse's  speeches  are  printed  in  Rom.  in  S. 

244-Z47.     Italics,    M.  244.     matter,]  matter,    S.  M.  C 

248      vnio  a\  unto  an    S.  M.  2i;o.     Nnrce]  Nurce    S.  M 


I  I 


i. 


3^2  The  moji  excellent  Tr age  die, 

Nurce  :     Eucn  or  oJde,  of  all  dayes  in  the  yeare  come 
Lammas  Eue  at  night  Jliall  Jlie  befourtccne.     Sufan  andJJie     255 
God  rejl  all  Chrijlian  foules  were  of  an  age.      Well  Sufan  is 
with  God,  jhe  was  too  good  for  me :  But  as  I  faid  on  Lam- 
mas Eue  at  night :  Jliall  JJie  be  fourteene,  that  JJiall  Jliee  ma- 
rie 1  remembi  r  it  well.      Tis  fence  the  Earth-quake  no7ve  e- 
leauen  yeares,  and  Jlie  was  weand  I  neuer  Jliall  forget  it,  of     260 
all  the  dales  of  the  yeare  vpon  that  day  :  for  I  had  then  laid 
wormewood  to  my  dug,  fitting  in  the  fun  vnder  the  Doue- 
houfe  wall.     My  Lord  and  you  were  then  at  Mantua,  nay  1 
do  beare  a  braine  :  But  as  I  faid,  when  it  did  tafl  the  worm- 
wood on  the  nipple  of  fny  dug,  dr'  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  foo^e     265 
to  fee  it  teachie  and  fall  out  with  Dugge.     Shake  quoth  the 
Doue-houfe  twas  no  need  I  trow  to  bid  me  trudge,  and  fince 
that  time  it  is  a  leauen  yeare :  for  then  could  luliet  flande 
high  lone,  nay  by  the  Roode,  fliee  could  haue  wadled  vp  and 
downe,  for  euen  the  day  before  Jliee  brake  her  brow,  atid  then     270 
viy  husband  God  be  ivith  his  Joule,  hee  was  a  merrie  man : 
Dofl  thou  fall  forward  luliet  ?  thou  wilt  fall  backward  when 
thou  hafl  more  wit :  wilt  thou  not  luliet?  and  by  my  holli- 
dam,  the  pretty  foole  left  crying  and  faid  I.      To  fee  how  a 
ieafl  Jliall  come  about,  I  warrant  you  if  I  Jliould  Hue  a  hun-     275 
dred  yeare,  I  neuer  Jliould  forget  it,  wilt  thou  not  luliet  ? 
and  by  my  troth  Jlie  Jlinted  and  cried  I. 

luliet :    And  flint  thou  too,  I  pre  thee  Nurce  fay  L 

Nurce  :     Well  goe  thy  waies,  God  fnarke  thee  for  his 
grace,  thou  wert  the  prettiefl  Babe  that  euer  I  nurfl,  7night         280 
[but  Hue  to  fee  thee  married  once,  I  haue  my  wijli. 

Wife :  And  that  fame  marriage  Nurce,  is  the  Thearae 
I  meant  to  talke  of:  Tell  me  luliet,  howe  fland  you  af- 
fected to  be  married  ? 

Jul :    It  is  an  honor  that  I  dreame  not  off.  285 

Nurce:  An  honor/  were  not  I  thy  onely  Nurce,  I 
would  fay  thou  hadfl  fuckt  wifedome  from  thy  Teat. 

Wife:  Well  girle,  the  Noble  Countie  Paris  feekes 
thee  for  his  Wife. 

Nurce  :     A  man  young  Ladie,  Ladie  fuch  a  man  as  all        290 
the  world,  why  he  is  a  man  of  waxe. 

Wife :     Veronaes  Summer  hath  not  fuch  a  flower. 

Nurce  :    Nay  he  is  a  flower,  in  faith  a  very  flower. 

Wife :    Well  luliet,  how  like  you  oi  Paris  loue. 

254.     Nurce]  Nnrce     C.  258      night  :'\  night    S.  M.  C. 


of  Rcmeo  and  Juliet.  3^3 

Juliet:    He  looke  to  like,  if  looking  liking  moue,  295 

gut  no  more  deepe  will  I  engage  mine  eye, 
Then  your  confent  giues  flrength  to  make  it  flie. 

Enter  Clowne. 

Clowne :  Maddayn  you  are  cald  for,  /upper  is  readie, 
the  Nurce  curjl  in  the  Pantrie,  all  thinges  in  extreamitie, 
make  hajl  for  J  mufl  be  gone  to  waite.  300 

Enter  Maskers  with  Romeo  and  a  Page. 

Ro:  What  fhall  this  fpeech  beefpoke  for  our  excufe? 
Or  fhall  we  on  without  Apologie. 

Benuoleo :    The  date  is  out  of  fuch  prolixitie, 
Weele  haue  no  Cupid  hudwinckt  with  a  Scarfe, 
Bearing  a  Tartars  painted  bow  of  lath,  305 

Scaring  the  Ladies  like  a  crow  keeper : 
Nor  no  withoutbOoke  Prologue  faintly  fpoke 
After  the  Prompter,  for  our  entrance. 
But  let  them  meafure  vs  by  what  they  will, 
Weele  meafure  them  a  meafure  and  begone.  310 

Rom  :    A  torch  for  me  I  am  not  for  this  aumbling, 
Beeing  but  heauie  I  will  beare  the  light. 

Mer :    Beleeue  me  Romeo  I  mufl  haue  you  daunce. 

Rom :    Not  I  beleeue  me  you  haue  dancing  fhooes 
With  nimble  foles,  I  haue  a  foule  of  lead  315 

So  flakes  me  to  the  ground  I  cannot  llirre. 

Mer :    Giue  me  a  cafe  to  put  my  vifage  in, 
A  vifor  for  a  vifor,  what  care  I 
What  curious  eye  doth  coate  deformitie. 

Rom :    Giue  me  a  Torch,  let  wantons  light  of  hart  320 

Tickle  the  fenceles  rufhes  with  their  heeles : 
For  I  am  prouerbd  with  a  Grandfire  phrafe, 
He  be  a  candleholder  and  looke  on, 
The  game  was  nere  fo  faire  and  I  am  done. 

Mer:    Tut  dun's  the  moufe,  the  Cunflables  old  word  325 

If  thou  beefl  Dun,  weele  draw  thee  from  the  mire 
Of  this  furreuerence  loue  wherein  thou  (lickfl. 
Leaue  this  talke,  we  burne  day  light  here. 

"Kom :  Nay  thats  not  fo.  Mer:  I  meane  fir  in  delay, 
We  burne  our  lights  by  night,  like  Lampes  by  day,  330 

Take  our  good  meaning  for  our  iudgement  fits 
Three  times  a  day,  ere  once  in  her  right  wits. 


298-300.     Rom.    S.  306.     crow  keeper]  crow-keeper    .S".  M.  C 

325.     Cunftables]   cunftable's    .S".         325.     word]  word,     S.  M.  C. 
27 


3^4  The  mojl  excellent  Tragedie, 

"R-om  :    So  we  meane  well  by  going  to  this  maske  : 
But  tis  no  wit  to  goe. 

Afer :    Why  Komec  may  one  aske  ?  335 

Bu?m :    I  dreamt  a  dreame  to  night. 

Mer:    And  fo  did  I.        Rom:   Why  what  was  yours  ? 

Mer:    That  dreamers  often  lie.  (true. 

R<?w  .•    In  bed  a  fleepe  while  they  doe  dreame  things 

Mer :    Ah  then  I  fee  Queene  Mab  hath  bin  with  you.         34a 

Ben  :    Queene  Mab  whats  fhe  ? 
She  is  the  Fairies  Midwife  and  doth  come 
In  fhape  no  bigger  than  an  Aggat  flone 
On  the  forefinger  of  a  Burgomafler, 

Drawne  with  a  teeme  of  little  Atomi,  345 

A  thwart  mens  nofes  when  they  lie  a  fleepe. 
Her  waggon  fpokes  aremade  of  fpinners  webs, 
The  couer,  of  the  winges  of  Graftioppers, 
The  traces  are  the  Moone-ftiine  watrie  beames, 
The  collers  crickets  bones,  the  lafh  of  filmes,  350 

Her  waggoner  is  a  fmall  gray  coated  flie, 
Not  halfe  fo  big  as  is  a  little  worme, 
Pickt  from  the  lafie  finger  of  a  maide. 
And  in  this  fort  flie  gallops  vp  and  downe 

Through  Louers  braines,  and  then  they  dream  of  loue ;  355 

O're  Courtiers  knees:  who  fl.rait  on  curfies  dreame 
O're  Ladies  lips,  who  dreame  on  kiffes  flrait: 
Which  oft  the  angrie  Mab  with  bliders  plagues, 
Becaufe  their  breathes  with  fweet  meats  tainted  are : 
Sometimes  ftie  gallops  ore  a  Lawers  lap,  360 

And  then  dreames  he  of  fmelling  out  a  fute, 
And  fometime  comes  fhe  with  a  tithe  pigs  taile, 
Tickling  a  Parfons  nofe  that  lies  a  fleepe, 
And  then  dreames  he  of  another  benefice : 

Sometime  flie  gallops  ore  a  fouldiers  nofe,  365 

And  then  dreames  he  of  cutting  forraine  throats, 
Of  breaches  ambufcados,  countermines. 
Of  healthes  fiue  fadome  deepe,  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  eare :  at  which  he  ftartes  and  wakes, 
And  fweares  a  Praier  or  two  and  fleepes  againe.  370 

This  is  that  Mab  that  makes  maids  lie  on  their  backes, 

340,341.     Mab]  j1/a<J    S.  C.  355.     loue;]  loue.    S.  M.    loue:    C 

364,  36^,     omiUed  by  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliei.  3^5 

And  proues  them  women  of  good  cariage.         (the  night, 

This  is  the  verie  Mab  that  plats  the  manes  of  Horfes  in 

And  plats  the  Elfelocks  in  foule  fluttifh  haire, 

Which  once  vntangled  much  miffortune  breedes.  375 

Rom :    Peace,  peace,  thou  talkfl  of  nothing. 

Mer:    True  I  talke  of  dreames, 
Which  are  the  Children  of  an  idle  braine, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vaine  fantafie. 

Which  is  as  thinne  a  fubflance  as  the  aire,  380 

And  more  inconflant  than  the  winde. 
Which  wooes  euen  now  the  frofe  bowels  of  the  north. 
And  being  angred  puffes  away  in  hafle. 
Turning  his  face  to  the  dew-dropping  fouth.  (felues, 

Ben :    Come,  come,  this  winde  doth  blow  vs  from  our-         385 
Supper  is  done  and  we  fhall  come  too  late. 

Ro:    I  feare  too  earlie,  for  my  minde  mifgiues 
Some  confequence  is  hanging  in  the  flars. 
Which  bitterly  begins  his  fearefuU  date 

With  this  nights  reuels,  and  expiers  the  terme  390 

Of  a  difpifed  life,  clofde  in  this  bread, 
Byfome  vntimelie  forfet  of  vile  death: 
But  he  that  hath  the  fleerage  of  my  courfe 
Dire<5ls  my  faile,  on  luftie  Gentlemen. 

Enter  old  Capulet  with  the  Ladies. 

Capu :    Welcome  Gentlemen,  welcome  Gentlemen,  395 

Ladies  that  haue  their  toes  vnplagud  with  Corns 
Will  haue  about  with  you,  ah  ha  my  Miflreffes, 
Which  of  you  all  will  now  refufe  to  dance  ? 
Shee  that  makes  daintie,  fhee  He  fweare  hath  Corns. 
Am  I  come  neere  you  now,  welcome  Gentlemen,  wel-  400 

More  lights  you  knaues,  &  turn  thefe  tables  vp,      (come, 
And  quench  the  fire  the  roome  is  growne  too  hote. 
Ah  firra,  this  vnlookt  for  fport  comes  well, 
Nay  fit,  nay  fit,  good  Cofen  Capulet : 

For  you  and  I  are  pafi,  our  Handing  dayes,  405 

How  long  is  it  fince  you  and  I  were  in  a  Maske  ? 

Cof:    By  Ladie  fir  tis  thirtie  yeares  at  leafl. 

Cap :    Tis  not  fo  much,  tis  not  fo  much, 
Tis  fince  the  mariage  of  Lucentio, 

Come  Pentecojl  as  quicklie  as  it  will,  410 

Some  fine  and  twentie  yeares,  and  then  we  maskt. 

Cof:    Tis  more,  tis  more,  his  fonne  is  elder  far. 


/ 


3^6  The  mojl  excellent  Tragedie, 

Cap :    Will  you  tell  me  that  it  cannot  be  fo, 
His  fonne  was  but  a  Ward  three  yeares  agoe, 
Good  youths  I  faith,  Oh  youth's  a  ioUy  thing.  415 

Rom:  What  l.adie  is  that  that  doth  inrich  the  hand 
Of  yonder  Knight?  O  fliee  doth  teach  the  torches  to 

burne  bright ! 
It  feemes  fhe  hangs  vpon  the  cheeke  of  night, 
Like  a  rich  iewell  in  an  Aethiops  eare,  420 

Beautie  too  rich  for  vfe,  for  earth  too  deare : 
So  fhines  a  fnow-white  Swan  trouping  with  Crowes, 
As  this  faire  Ladie  ouer  her  fellowes  fhowes. 
The  meafure  done,  ile  watch  her  place  of  fland. 
And  touching  hers,  make  happie  my  rude  hand  425 

Did  my  heart  loue  till  now  ?   Forfweare  it  fight, 
I  neuer  faw  true  beautie  till  this  night. 

Tib :    This  by  his  voice  fhould  be  a  Mounlague, 
Fetch  rae  my  rapier  boy.     What  dares  the  flaue 
Come  hither  couer'd  with  an  Anticke  face,  430 

To  fcorne  and  ieere  at  our  folemnitie? 
Now  by  the  flocke  and  honor  of  my  kin, 
To  flrike  him  dead  I  hold  it  for  no  fin. 

Ca:    Why  how  now  Cofen,  wherfore  florme  you  fo. 

Ti :    Vncle  this  is  a  Mountague  our  foe,  435 

A  villaine  that  is  hether  come  in  fpight, 
To  mocke  at  our  folemnitie  this  night. 

Ca :    Young  Romeo,  is  it  not  ? 

Ti:    It  is  that  villaine  Romeo.  (man, 

Ca :    Let  him  alone,  he  beares  him  like  a  portly  gentle-         44c 
And  to  fpeake  truth,  Verona  brags  of  him, 
As  of  a  vertuous  and  well  gouern'd  youth : 
I  would  not  for  the  wealth  of  all  this  towne, 
Here  in  my  houfe  doo  him  difparagement : 

Therefore  be  quiet  take  no  note  of  him,  445 

Beare  a  faire  prefence,  and  put  off  thefe  frownes, 
An  ill  befeeming  femblance  for  a  feafl. 

Ti:    It  fits  when  fuch  a  villaine  is  a  guefl, 
Ile  not  indure  him. 

Ca :    He  fhalbe  indured,  goe  to  I  fay,  he  (hall,  450 

Am  I  the  Mafler  of  the  houfe  or  you  ? 
You'le  not  indure  him?   God  fhall  mend  my  foule 
You'le  make  a  mutenie  amongfl  my  guefls, 

415.     faith,]  faith.     S.  Tf.  C  425.    hand]  hand.    S.  M     hand-    C 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  3^7 

You'le  fet  Cocke  a  hoope,  you'le  be  the  man. 

Ti :    Vncle  tis  a  (hame.  455 

Ca :    Goe  too,  you  are  a  faucie  knaue, 
This  tricke  will  fcath  you  one  day  I  know  what, 
Well  faid  my  hartes.  Be  quiet : 
More  light  Ye  knaue,  or  I  will  make  you  quiet.        (ting, 

Tibalt:    Patience  perforce  with  wilfuU  choller  mee-         460 
Makes  my  flefh  tremble  in  their  different  greetings : 
I  will  withdraw,  but  this  intrufion  (hall 
Now  feeming  fweet,  conuert  to  bitter  gall. 

Rom :    If  I  prophane  with  my  vnworthie  hand. 
This  holie  fhrine,  the  gentle  fmne  is  this  :  465 

My  lips  two  blufliing  Pilgrims  ready  fland, 
To  fmooth  the  rough  touch  with  a  gentle  kiffe. 

luli :    Good  Pilgrime  you  doe  wrong  your  hand,  too 
Which  mannerly  deuotion  fhewes  in  this  :  (much. 

For  Saints  haue  hands  which  holy  Palmers  touch,  470 

And  Palme  to  Palme  is  holy  Palmers  kiffe. 

Rom :    Haue  not  Saints  lips,  and  holy  Palmers  too  ? 

luli :    Yes  Pilgrime  lips  that  they  mufl  vfe  in  praier. 

Ro :    Why  then  faire  faint,  let  lips  do  what  hands  doo, 
They  pray,  yeeld  thou,  leafl  faith  turne  to  difpaire.  475 

/u :    Saints  doe  not  mooue  though :  grant  nor  praier 
forfake. 

Ro:    Then  mooue  not  till  my  praiers  effedl  I  take. 
Thus  from  my  lips,  by  yours  my  fin  is  purgde. 

lu :    Then  haue  my  lips  the  fin  that  they  haue  tooke.  480 

Ro :    Sinne  from  my  lips,  O  trefpaffe  fweetly  vrgde  ! 
Oiue  me  my  finne  againe. 

lu :    You  kiffe  by  the  booke. 

Nurfe :    Madame  your  mother  calles. 

Rom :    What  is  her  mother  ?  485 

Nurf<? :  Marrie  Batcheler  her  mother  is  the  Ladie  of  the 
houfe,  and  a  good  Lady,  and  a  wife,  and  a  vertuous.  I  nurfl 
her  daughter  that  you  talkt  withall,  I  tell  you  ,  he  that  can 
lay  hold  of  herfJiall  haue  the  chinkes. 

'R.om :    Is  fhe  a  Mountague  ?  Oh  deare  account,  490 

My  life  is  my  foes  thrall. 

Ca :    Nay  gentlemen  prepare  not  to  be  gone,  ^ 


458.     hartes.]  hartes :     S.  M.  468.     hand,]  hand    S.  M.  C. 

484.     The  Nurse's  speeches  are  printed  in  Rom.  in  5.  M. 
27* 


Z- 


318 


The  ttiojl  excellent  Tr age  die. 


We  haue  a  trifling  foolifh  banquet  towards. 

They  whifper  in  his  eare. 

I  pray  you  let  me  intreat  you.    Is  it  fo  ? 

Well  then  /  thanke  you  honefl  Gentlemen,  495 

I  promife  you  but  for  your  company, 

I  would  haue  bin  a  bed  an  houre  agoe : 

Light  to  my  chamber  hoe. 

Exeunt. 

lul :    Nurfe,  what  is  yonder  Gentleman? 

Nut  :     The  fonne  and  heire  of  old  Tiberio.  500 

Jul:    Whats  he  that  now  is  going  out  of  dore? 

Nur :     That  as  I  thinke  is  ycng  Petruchio.        (dance  ? 

lul :    Whats  he  that  followes  there  that  would  not 

Nur :  /  know  not. 

lul:    Goe  learne  his  name,  if  he  be  maried,  505 

My  graue  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed. 

Nur :    His  uame  is  Romeo  ana  a  Mountague,  the  onely 
fonne  of  your  great  enemie. 

lul:    My  onely  Loue  fprung  from  my  onely  hate, 
Too  early  feene  vnknowne  and  knowne  too  late  :,  510 

Prodigious  birth  of  loue  is  this  to  me, 
That  I  fhould  loue  a  loathed  enemie. 

Nurfe :     VVJiats  this  ?  whats  that? 

lul :    Nothing  Nurfe  but  a  rime  I  learnt  euen  now  of 

oue  I  danct  with.  515 

Nurfe :    Come  your  mother  flaies  for  you y  lie  goe  a  long 

with  you.  Exeunt. 

Enter  Romeo  alone. 

Ro :    Shall  I  goe  forward  and  my  heart  is  here  ? 
Tume  backe  dull  earth  and  finde  thy  Center  out. 
Enter  Benuolio  Mercutio. 

Ben  :    Romeo ,  my  cofen  Romeo.  5  30 

Mer :    Doefl  thou  heare  he  is  wife, 
Vpon  my  life  he  hath  stolne  him  home  to  bed. 

Ben :    He  came  this  way,  and  leapt  this  Orchard  wall. 
Call  good  Mercutio. 

Mer:    Call,  nay  He  coniure  too.  525 

Romeo,  madman,  humors,  pafsion,  liuer,  appeare  thou  in 
likenes  of  a  figh  :  fpcBk  but  one  rime  &  I  am  fatiffied,  cry 
but  ay  me.     Pronounce  but  Loue  and  Doue,  fpeake  to 


494.    you.]  you    C. 
507.     ana']  and    S.  M.  C. 
527.     fpetjk]  speek    .S".  M.  C. 


507.     uame\  name.    S. 

515.     danct]  dan  est    S.  M.  C. 


of  Rojfieo  and  Juliet.  3^9 

my  goffip  Venus  one  faire  word,  one  nickname  for  her 
purblinde  fonne  and  heire  young  Abraham  :  Cupid  hee  530 
that  ihot  fo  trim  when  young  King  Cophetua  loued  the 
hegger  wench.  Hee  heares  me  not.  I  coniure  thee  by 
Rofalindes  bright  eye,  high  forehead,  and  fcarlet  lip,  her 
prettie  foote,  flraight  leg,  and  quiuering  thigh,  and  the 
demaines  that  there  adiacent  lie,  that  in  thy  likeneffe  535 
thou  appeare  to  vs. 

Ben :    If  he  doe  heare  thee  thou  wilt  anger  him. 

Mer:  But  this  cannot  anger  him,  marrie  if  one  (huld 
raife  a  fpirit  in  his  Miflris  circle  of  fome  flrange  fafhion, 
making  it  there  to  fland  till  flie  had  laid  it,  and  coniurde  540 
it  downe,  that  were  fome  fpite.  My  inuocation  is  faire 
and  honefl,  and  in  his  Miflris  name  I  coniure  onely  but 
to  raife  vp  him. 

Ben :  Well  he  hath  hid  himfelfe  amongfl  thofe  trees, 
To  be  conforted  with  the  humerous  night,  545 

Blinde  in  his  loue,  and  befl  befits  the  darke. 

Mer :    If  loue  be  blind,  loue  will  not  hit  the  marke, 
Now  will  he  fit  vnder  a  Medler  tree. 
And  wifh  his  Miflris  were  that  kinde  of  fruite, 
As  maides  call  Medlers  when  they  laugh  alone.  55c 

Ah  Rofneo  that  fhe  were,  ah  that  fhe  were 
An  open  Et  c cetera,  thou  a  poprin  Peare. 
Romeo  God  night,  il'e  to  my  trundle  bed  : 
This  field  bed  is  too  cold  for  mee. 

Come  lets  away,  for  tis  but  vaine,  555 

To  feeke  him  here  that  meanes  not  to  be  found. 

Ro :  He  iefls  at  fears  that  neuer  felt  a  wound : 
But  foft,  what  light  forth  yonder  window  breakes  ? 
It  is  the  Eafl,  and  lu/iet  is  the  Sunne, 

Arife  faire  Sunne,  and  kill  the  enuious  Moone  .560 

That  is  alreadie  ficke,  and  pale  with  griefe  : 
That  thou  her  maid,  art  far  more  faire  than  fhe. 
Be  not  her  maide  fince  fhe  is  enuious, 
Her  veflall  liuerie  is  but  pale  and  greene. 

And  none  but  fooles  doe  weare  it,  cafl.  it  off.  565 

She  fpeakes,  but  fhe  fayes  nothing.     What  of  that  ? 
Her  eye  difcourfeth,  I  will  anfwere  it. 
I  am  too  bold,  tis  not  to  me  fhe  fpeakes, 


529.     nickname]  nick  name     S  M.  538.     But]  Tut    .S".  M.  C, 

545.     with]  with     S.  M.  C.  560.     Sunne]  S  one     C. 


320  The  moji  excellent  Tragedie, 

Two  of  the  fairefl  (larres  in  all  the  skies, 

Hauing  fome  bufines,  doe  entreat  her  eyes  570 

To  twinckle  in  their  fpheares  till  they  retume. 

What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head, 

The  brightnes  of  her  cheekes  would  fhame  thofe  liars : 

As  day-light  doth  a  Lampe,  her  eyes  in  heauen, 

Would  th  rough  the  airie  region  flreame  fo  bright,  575 

That  birdes  would  fing,  and  thinke  it  were  not  night. 

Oh  now  Ihe  leanes  her  cheekes  vpon  her  hand , 

I  would  I  were  the  gloue  to  that  fame  hand, 

That  I  might  kiffe  that  cheeke. 

lul :    Ay  me.  580 

Rom :    She  fpeakes.  Oh  fpeake  againe  bright  Angell : 
For  thou  art  as  glorious  to  this  night  beeing  ouer  my 
As  is  a  winged  meffenger  of  heauen  (head, 

Vnto  the  white  vpturned  woondring  eyes, 

Of  mortals  that  fall  backe  to  gaze  on  him,  585 

When  he  beftrides  the  lafie  pacing  cloudes, 
And  failes  vpon  the  bofome  of  the  aire. 

/ul:    Ah  Romeo,  Romeo,  wherefore  art  thou  Romeo? 
Denie  thy  Father,  and  refufe  thy  name, 

Or  if  thou  wilt  not  be  but  fworne  my  loue,  590 

And  il'e  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Rom :    Shall  I  heare  more,  or  (hall  I  fpeake  to  this  ? 

Jul :    Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  mine  enemie. 
Whats  Mountague  ?  It  is  nor  hand  nor  foote, 
Nor  arm.e,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part.  595 

Whats  in  a  name  ?   That  which  we  call  a  Rofe, 
By  any  other  name  would  fmell  as  fweet : 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  cald, 
Retaine  the  diuine  perfe<5lion  he  owes : 

Without  that  title  Romeo  part  thy  name,  600 

And  for  that  name  which  is  no  part  of  thee, 
Take  all  I  haue. 

Rom:    I  take  thee  at  thy  word. 
Call  me  but  loue,  and  il'e  be  new  Baptifde, 
Henceforth  I  neuer  will  be  Romeo.  605 

lu :    What  man  art  thou,  that  thus  beskrind  in  night, 
Doefl  flumble  on  my  counfaile  ? 

Ro :    By  a  name  I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee. 
My  name  deare  Saint  is  hatefull  to  my  felfe, 
Becaufe  it  is  an  enemie  to  thee.  610 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  3^1 

Had  I  it  written  I  would  teare  the  word. 

Jul:    My  eares  haue  not  yet  drunk  a  hundred  words 
Of  that  tongues  vtterance,  yet  I  know  the  found  : 
Art  thou  not  Romeo  and  a  Mountaguef 

Ro :    Neyther  faire  Saint,  if  eyther  thee  difpleafe.  615 

lu :    How  camfl  thou  hether,  tell  me  and  wherfore  ? 
The  Orchard  walles  are  high  and  hard  to  clime, 
And  the  place  death  confidering  who  thou  art. 
If  any  of  my  kinfmen  finde  thee  here. 

Ro:    By  loues  light  winges  did  I  oreperch  thefe  wals,         620 
For  (lonie  limits  cannot  hold  loue  out, 
And  what  loue  can  doo,  that  dares  loue  attempt, 
Therefore  thy  kinfmen  are  no  let  to  me. 

Jul:    If  they  doe  finde  thee  they  will  murder  thee. 

Ro :    Alas  there  lies  more  perrill  in  thine  eyes,  620 

Then  twentie  of  their  fwords,  looke  thou  but  fweete. 
And  I  am  proofe  againfl  their  enmitie.  (here. 

Jul :  I  would  not  for  the  world  they  (huld  find  thee, 

Ro :    I  haue  nights  cloak  to  hide  thee  from  their  light, 
And  but  thou  loue  me  let  them  finde  me  here :  650 

For  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate. 
Than  death  proroged  wanting  of  thy  loue. 

lu  :     By  whofe  dire6lions  foundfl  thou  out  this  place. 

Ro:    By  loue,  who  firfl.  did  prompt  me  to  enquire, 
I  he  gaue  me  counfalle  and  I  lent  him  eyes.  635 

I  am  no  Pilot :  yet  wert  thou  as  farre 
As  that  vail  fhore,  wafht  with  the  furthefl  fea, 
I  would  aduenture  for  fuch  Marchandife. 

Jul:    Thou  knowil  the  mafke  of  night  is  on  my  face, 
Els  would  a  Maiden  blufh  bepaint  my  cheeks :  640 

For  that  which  thou  hafle  heard  me  fpeake  to  night, 
Faine  would  I  dwell  on  forme,  faine  faine  denie. 
What  I  haue  fpoke :  but  farewell  complements. 
Doefl  thou  loue  me  ?   Nay  I  know  thou  wilt  fay  I, 
And  I  will  take  thy  word  :  but  if  thou  fwearfl,  64s 

Thou  maiefl  proue  falfe : 
At  Louers  periuries  they  fay  ^oue  fmiles. 
Ah  gentle  Romeo,  if  thou  loue  pronounce  it  faithfully : 
Or  if  thou  thinke  I  am  too  eafely  wonne, 

Il'e  frowne  and  fay  thee  nay  and  be  peruerfe,  650 

So  thou  wilt  wooe :  but  els  not  for  the  world, 

643.     complements.]  complements,     S.  M,  647.     Louers]  louer    S 

V 


32  2  The  mojl  excellent  Tragedie, 

In  truth  faire  Mountagtte,  I  am  too  fond, 

And  therefore  thou  maied  thinke  my  hauiour  light: 

But  trufl  me  gentleman  He  proue  more  true, 

Than  they  that  haue  more  cunning  to  be  flrange.  655 

I  (hould  haue  bin  flrange  I  mud  confeffe, 

But  that  thou  ouer-heardfl  ere  I  was  ware 

My  true  loues  Pafsion  :  therefore  pardon  me, 

And  not  impute  this  yeelding  to  light  loue, 

Which  the  darke  night  hath  fo  discouered.  660 

Ro:    By  yonder  bleffed  Moone  1  fweare. 
That  tips  with  filuer  all  thefe  fruit  trees  tops. 

Jul :    O  fweare  not  by  the  Moone  the  vnconflant 
That  monthlie  changeth  in  her  circled  orbe,        (Moone, 
Leafl  that  thy  loue  proue  likewife  variable.  665 

Ro :    Now  by 

Tul :    Nay  doo  not  fweare  at  all, 
Or  if  thou  fweare,  fweare  by  thy  glorious  felfe. 
Which  art  the  God  of  my  Idolatrie, 
And  H'e  beleeue  thee.  670 

Ro :    If  my  true  harts  loue 

lul :    Sweare  not  at  al,  though  I  doo  ioy  in 
I  naue  fmall  ioy  in  this  contra6l  to  night,  (thee, 

It  is  too  rafh,  too  fodaine,  too  vnaduifde, 

Too  like  the  lightning  that  doth  ceafe  to  bee  675 

Ere  one  can  fay  it  lightens.  I  heare  fome  comming, 
Deare  loue  adew,  fweet  Mountague  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little  and  il'e  come  againe. 

Ro :    O  bleffed  bleffed  night,  I  feare  being  night. 
All  this  is  but  a  dreame  I  heare  and  fee,  680 

Too  flattering  true  to  be  fubflantiall. 

Jul :    Three  wordes  good  Rotneo  and  good  night  in 
If  that  thy  bent  of  loue  be  honourable  ?  (deed. 

Thy  purpofe  marriage,  fend  me  word  to  morrow 
By  one  that  il'e  procure  to  come  to  thee :  6S5 

Where  and  what  time  thou  wilt  performe  that  right. 
And  al  my  fortunes  at  thy  foote  il'e  lay. 
And  follow  thee  my  Lord  through  out  the  world. 

Ro :    Loue  goes  toward  loue  like  fchoole  boyes  from 

their  bookes,  69c 

But  loue  from  loue,  to  fchoole  with  heauie  lookes. 

Jul :    Romeo,  Romeo,  O  for  a  falkners  voice, 

669.     Ic^olatrie,]  Idolatrie.     M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  3^3 

To  lure  this  TafTell  gentle  backe  againe : 

Bondage  is  hoarfe  and  may  not  crie  aloud, 

Els  would  I  teare  the  Caue  where  Eccho  lies  695 

And  make  her  airie  voice  as  hoarfe  as  mine, 

With  repetition  of  my  Rotneos  name. 

Romeo  ? 

Ro :    It  is  my  foule  that  calles  vpon  my  name, 
How  filuer  fweet  found  louers  tongues  in  night.  700 

lul :    Romeo? 

Ro :    Madame. 

Jul :    At  what  a  clocke  to  morrow  fhall  I  fend? 

Ro:    At  the  houre  of  nine. 

lul:    I  will  not  faile,  tis  twentie  yeares  till  then.  705 

'R.omeo  I  haue  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  backe. 

R<9w  .•    Let  me  flay  here  till  you  remember  it. 

lul:  I  fhall  forget  to  haue  thee  flill  flaie  here, 
Remembring  how  I  loue  thy  companie. 

Rom :    And  il'e  llay  flill  to  haue  thee  flill  forget,  710 

Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this. 

lu :    Tis  almofl  morning  I  would  haue  thee  gone. 
But  yet  no  further  then  a  wantons  bird, 
Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand. 

Like  a  pore  prifoner  in  his  twifled  giues,  715 

And  with  a  filke  thred  puis  it  backe  againe, 
Too  louing  iealous  of  his  libertie. 

Ro :    Would  I  were  thy  bird. 

Jul :    Sweet  fo  would  I, 
Vet  I  fhould  kill  thee  with  much  cherrifhing  thee.  720 

Good  night,  good  night,  parting  is  fuch  fweet  forrow. 
That  I  fhall  fay  good  night  till  it  be  morrow.         (breaft, 

Ri7/«  .•    Sleepe  dwell  vpon  thine  eyes,  peace  on  thy 
I  would  that  I  were  fleep  and  peace  of  fweet  to  refl. 
Now  will  I  to  my  Ghoflly  fathers  Cell,  725 

His  help  to  craue,  and  my  good  hap  to  tell. 

Enter  Frier  Francis.  (night. 

Frier:    The  gray  ey'd  morne  fmiles  on  the  frowning 
Checkring  the  Eaflerne  clouds  with  flreakes  of  light. 
And  flecked  darkenes  like  a  drunkard  reeles, 
From  forth  daies  path,  and  7Yta?is  fierie  wheeles :  730 

Now  ere  the  Sunne  aduance  his  burning  eye. 
The  world  to  cheare,  and  nights  darke  dew  to  drie. 
We  mufl  vp  fill  this  oafier  Cage  of  ours, 


324  The  mojl  excLllent  Tragedie, 

With  balefull  weeds,  and  precious  iuyced  flowers, 

Oh  mickle  is  the  powerful!  grace  that  lies  735 

In  hearbes,  plants,  flones,  and  their  true  qualities : 

For  nought  fo  vile,  that  vile  on  earth  doth  liue. 

But  to  the  earth  fome  fpeciall  good  doth  giue : 

Nor  nought  fo  good,  but  flraind  from  that  faire  vfe, 

Reuolts  to  vice  and  flumbles  on  abufe:  740 

Vertue  it  felfe  turnes  vice  being  mifapplied, 

And  vice  fometimes  by  action  dignified. 

Within  the  infant  rinde  of  this  fmall  flower, 

Poyfon  hath  refidence,  and  medecine  power : 

For  this  being  fmelt  too,  with  that  part  cheares  ech  hart,  745 

Being  tafled  flaies  all  fences  with  the  hart. 

Two  fuch  oppofed  foes  incampe  them  dill. 

In  man  as  well  as  herbes,  grace  and  rude  will, 

And  where  the  worfer  is  predominant. 

Full  foone  the  canker  death  eats  vp  that  plant.  750 

Kom:    Good  morrow  to  my  Ghoflly  Confeflbr. 

J^fi :    Benedicite,  what  earlie  tongue  fo  foone  faluteth 
Yongfonne  it  argues  a  diflempered  head,  (me? 

So  foone  to  bid  good  morrow  to  my  bed. 

Care  keepes  his  watch  in  euerie  old  mans  eye,  755 

And  where  care  lodgeth,  fleep  can  neuer  lie : 
But  where  vnbrufed  youth  with  vnftuft  braines 
Doth  couch  his  limmes,  there  golden  fleepe  remaines : 
Therefore  thy  earlines  doth  me  aflure. 

Thou  art  vprowf 'd  by  fome  diflemperature.  760 

Or  if  not  fo,  then  here  I  hit     it  righ 
Our  Komeo  hath  not  bin  a  bed  to  night. 

Ko:    The  lad  was  true,  the  fweeter  reft  was  mine. 

Fr:    God  pardon  fin,  wert  thou  with  'Rj)faiim? 

R^.'    With  ^Kofaline  my  Ghoftly  father  no,  76 q 

Ihaue  forgot  that  name,  and  that  names  woe.  (then  ? 

Fri :    Thats  my  good  fonne  :  but  where  haft  thou  bin 

R^  .•    I  tell  thee  ere  thou  aske  it  me  againe, 
I  haue  bin  feafting  with  mine  enemie : 

Where  on  the  fodaine  one  hath  wounded  mee  770 

Thats  by  me  wounded,  both  our  remedies 
With  in  thy  help  and  holy  phificke  lies, 
I  beare  no  hatred  blefled  man  :  for  loe 
My  intercefsion  likewife  fteades  my  foe. 


761.     righ]  right     S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  3^5 

Frier:    Be  plaine  my  fonne  and  homely  in  thy  drift,  775 

Ridling  confefsion  findes  but  ridling  flirift. 

'R.om :    Then  plainely  know  my  harts  deare  loue  is  fet 
On  the  faire  daughter  of  rich  Capulet : 
As  mine  on  hers,  fo  hers  likewife  on  mine, 

And  all  combind,  faue  what  thou  mull  combine  780 

By  holy  marriage :  where,  and  when,  and  how. 
We  met,  we  woo'd,  and  made  exchange  of  vowes, 
Il'e  tell  thee  as  I  paffe :  But  this  I  pray, 
That  thou  confent  to  marrie  vs  to  day. 

Fri:    Holy  S.  Francis,  what  a  change  is  here?  785 

Is  'R.ofaline  whome  thou  didft.  loue  fo  deare 
So  foone  forfooke,  lo  yong  mens  loue  then  lies 
Not  truelie  in  their  harts,  but  in  their  eyes. 
lefu  Maria,  what  a  deale  of  brine 

Hath  wafht  thy  fallow  cheekes  for  'R.ofalinef  790 

How  much  fait  water  cad  away  in  wade, 
To  feafon  loue,  that  of  loue  doth  not  tafle. 
The  funne  not  yet  thy  fighes  from  heauen  cleares, 
Thy  old  grones  ring  yet  in  my  ancient  eares. 
And  loe  vpon  thy  cheeke  the  flaine  doth  fit,  795 

Of  an  old  teare  that  is  not  wafht  oflf  yet. 
If  euer  thou  wert  thus,  and  thefe  woes  thine, 
Thou  and  thefe  woes  were  all  for  "Kofaline, 
And  art  thou  changde,  pronounce  this  fentence  then 
Women  may  fal,  when  ther's  no  llrength  in  men.  800 

'R.om :    Thou  chidfl  me  oft  for  louing  'R.ofaline. 

Fr:    For  doating,  not  for  louing,  pupill  mine. 

Fom :    And  bad  ft.  me  burie  loue. 

Fr:    Not  in  a  graue. 
To  lay  one  in  another  out  to  haue.  805 

Fom :    I  pree  thee  chide  not,  fhe  whom  I  loue  now 
Doth  grace  for  grace,  and  loue  forloue  allow : 
The  other  did  not  fo. 

Fr:    Oh  flie  knew  well 
Thy  loue  did  read  by  rote,  and  could  not  fpell.  810 

But  come  yong  Wauerer,  come  goe  with  mee, 
In  one  refpe(5l  He  thy  afsift.ant  bee  : 
For  this  alliaunce  may  fo  happie  proue. 
To  turne  your  Houfholds  rancour  to  pure  loue.         Exeunt. 

793.     cleares,]  clear  •^,     M.  81 1,     yong]  young     S.  C 

28 


326  The  excellent  Tragedit 

Enter  Mercutio,  Benuolio. 

Mer:    Why  whats  become  oi  Romeo?  came  he  not  815 

home  to  night  ? 

Ben:    Not  to  his  Fathers,  I  fpake  with  his  man. 

Mer:  Ah  that  fame  pale  hard  hearted  wench,  that  Ro- 
Torments  him  fo,  that  he  will  fure  run  mad.         {/aline? 

Mer:     Tybalt  the  Kinfman  of  olde  Capolet  820 

Hath  fent  a  Letter  to  his  Fathers  Houfe : 
Some  Challenge  on  my  life. 

Ben:    Romeo  will  anfwere  it. 

Mer:    I,  anie  man  that  can  write  may  anfwere  a  letter. 

Ben :    Nay,  he  will  anfwere  the  letters  mafler  if  hee  bee       825 
challenged. 

Mer:    Who,  Romeo?  why  he  is  alreadie  dead  :   flabd 
with  a  white  wenches  blacke  eye,  fhot  thorough  the  eare 
with  a  loue  fong,  the  verie  pinne  of  his  heart  cleft  with  the 
blinde  bow-boyesbut-fhaft.      And  isheaman  to  encounter       830 
Tybalt? 

Ben:    Why  what  is  Tybalt? 

Mer:  More  than  the  prince  of  cattes  I  can  tell  you.  Oh 
he  is  the  couragious  captaine  of  complements.  Catfo,  he 
fightes  as  you  fmg  pricke-fong ,  keepes  time  dyflance  and  835 
proportion,  refls  me  his  minum  refl  one  two  and  the  thirde 
ia  your  bofome,  the  very  butcher  of  a  filken  button,  a  Duel- 
lift  a  Duellifl,  a  gentleman  of  the  very  firfl  houfe  of  the  firft 
and  fecond  caufe,  ah  the  immortall  Paflado,  the  Punto  re- 
uerfo,  the  Hay.  84c 

Ben :    The  what  ? 

Me:  The  Poxe  of  fuch  limping  antique  affedling  fan- 
taflicoes  thefe  new  tuners  of  accents.  By  lefu  a  very  good 
blade,  a  very  tall  man,  a  very  good  whoore.  Why  graund- 
fir  is  not  this  a  miferable  cafe  that  we  fhould  be  ftil  afflidled  845 
with  thefe  ftrange  flies :  thefe  fafhionmongers,  these  par- 
donmees,  that  fland  fo  much  on  the  new  forme,  that  they 
cannot  fitte  at  eafe  on  the  old  bench.  Oh  their  bones,  theyT 
bones. 

Ben.     Heere  comes  Romeo.  850 

Mer:  Without  his  Roe,  like  a dryed  Hering.  Oflefhflerti 
how  art  thou  fifhified.  Sirra  now  is  he  for  the  numbers  that 
Petrarch  flowdin :  Laura  to  his  Lady  was  but  a  kitchin 
drudg,  yet  (he  had  a  better  loue  to  berime  her :   Dido  a  dow- 

818.     R of, ilinefl  Rosaline,     S.  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  3^7 

dy  Cleopatra  a  Gypfie,  Hero  and  Hellen  hildings  and  harle-     855 
tries :  Thifbie  agray  eye  or  fo,  but  not  to  the  purpofe.    Signior 
'Rx^meo  bon  iour,  there  is  a  French  curtefie  to  your  French 
flop :  yee  gaue  vs  the  counterfeit  fairely  yeflernight. 

l^om  :    What  counterfeit  I  pray  you  ? 

Me:    The  flip  the  flip,  can  you  not  conceiue?  &60 

"Kom :  I  cry  you  mercy  my  bufines  was  great,  and  in  fuch 
a  cafe  as  mine,  a  man  may  flraine  curtefie. 

Mer:  Oh  thats  as  much  to  fay  as  fuch  a  cafe  as  yours  wil 
conflraine  a  man  to  bow  in  the  hams. 

'Kom  :    A  mofl.  curteous  expofition.  865 

Me :    Why  I  am  the  very  pinke  of  curtefie. 
Kom  :    Pinke  for  flower? 

Mer :    Right. 

'Koin  :    Then  is  my  Pumpe  well  flour' d  : 

Mer:    Well  faid,  follow  me  nowe  that  iefl  till  thou  hafl     870 
worne  out  thy  Pumpe,  that  when  the  Angle  fole  of  it  is  worn 
the  iefl  may  remaine  after  the  wearing  folie  flnguler. 

^om :    O  Angle  foald  iefl.  folie  flnguler  for  the  flnglenes. 

Me.    Come  between  vs  good  BenuoUo,  for  my  wits  faile. 
R^w  .-Swits  and  fpurres,fwits  &  fpurres,or  lie  cry  a  match.      875 

Mer:  Nay  if  thy  wits  runne  the  wildgoofe  chafe,  I  haue 
done :  for  I  am  fure  thou  haft,  more  of  the  goofe  in  one  of 
thy  wits,  than  I  haue  in  al  my  flue  .•  Was  I  with  you  there  for 
the  goofe? 

^om :    Thou  wert  neuer  with  me  for  any  thing,  when     880 
thou  wert  not  with  me  for  the  goofe. 

Me :    He  bite  thee  by  the  eare  for  that  iefl.. 

R(?/«  .•    Nay  good  goofe  bite  not. 
Mer :  Why  thy  wit  is  a  bitter  fweeting,  a  mofl.  ftiarp  fauce 

R^;«  .•    And  was  it  not  well  fem'd  in  to  a  fweet  goofe?        885 

Mer:  Oh  heere  is  a  witte  of  Cheuerell  that  flretcheth 
from  an  ynch  narrow  to  an  ell  broad. 

R<7;w  ;  I  flretcht  it  out  for  the  word  broad,  which  added  to 
the  goofe,  proues  thee  faire  and  wide  a  broad  goofe. 

Mer:    Why  is  not  this  better  now  than  groning  for  loue?     890 
why  now  art  thou  fociable,  now  art  thou  thy  felfe,  nowe  art 
thou  what  thou  art,  as  wel  by  arte  as  nature.     This  driueling 
loue  is  like  a  great  naturall,  that  runs  vp  and  downe  to  hide 
his  bable  in  a  hole. 

Ben:    Stop  there.  895 

858.    flop]  slop   M.  C.  878.    al]  all    C.  886.    Cheuerell]  Cheuertll    S. 


328  The  excellent  Tr age  die 

Me :  Why  thou  wouldll  haue  me  flopp  my  tale  againft 
the  haire. 

Ben:    Thou  would fl  haue  made  thy  tale  too  long? 

Mer:    Tut  man  thou  art  decerned,  I  meant  to  make  it 
ftiort,  for  I  was  come  to  the  whole  depth  of  my  tale?  and     900 
meant  indeed  to  occupie  the  argument  no  longer. 

R(?w  ••    Heers  goodly  geare. 

Enter  Nurfe  and  her  man. 

Mer:    A  faile,  a  faile,  a  faile. 

Befi :    Two,  two,  a  fhirt  and  a  fmocke. 

Nur :    Peter,  pree  thee  giue  me  my  fan.  905 

Mer :  Pree  thee  doo  good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face  :  for 
her  fanne  is  the  fairer  of  the  two. 

Nur :    God  ye  goodmorrow  Gentlemen. 

Mer:    God  ye  good  den  faire  Gentlewoman. 

Nur:    Is  it  godyegooden  I  pray  you.  910 

Mer:  Tis  no  lefle  I  aflure  you,  for  the  baudie  hand  of 
the  diall  is  euen  now  vpon  the  pricke  of  noone. 

Nur :    Fie,  what  a  man  is  this? 

Rom :  A  Gentleman  Nurfe,  that  God  hath  made  foi 
himfelfe  to  marre.  915 

Nur:  By  my  troth  well  faid :  for  himfelfe  to  marre 
quoth  he?  I  pray  you  can  anie  of  you  tell  where  one  maie 
finde  yong  Romeo  ? 

Rom :    I  can  :  but  yong  Rofneo  will  bee  elder  when  you 
haue  found  him,  than  he  was  when  you  fought  him.     I  am     920 
the  yongefl  of  that  name  for  fault  of  a  worfe. 

Nur:    Well  faid. 

Mer:  Yea,  is  the  word  well?  mas  well  noted,  wife- 
ly, wifely. 

Nu :    If  you  be  he  fir,  I  defire  fome  conference  with  ye.     925 

Ben :    O,  belike  fhe  meanes  to  inuite  him  to  fupper. 

Mer:    So  ho.     A  baud,  a  baud,  a  baud. 

Rom  :    Why  what  hafl  found  man? 

Mer:  No  hare  fir,  vnleffe  it  be  a  hare  in  a  lenten  pye, 
that  is  fomewhat  ftale  and  hoare  ere  it  be  eaten.  930 

He  walkes  by  them,  and  fings. 
And  an  olde  hare  hore,  and  an  olde  hare  hore 

is  verie  good  meate  in  Lent : 
But  a  hare  thats  hoare  is  too  much  for  a  fcore, 
if  it  hore  ere  it  be  fpent. 

902.     geare]  geere    S.  M.  932.     is]  Is    S.  M.  934.     if]  If     S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  3^9 

Youl  come  to  your  fathers  to  fupper  ?  93^ 

Rom :     I  will. 

Mer:    Farewell  ancient  Ladie,  farewell  fweete  Ladie. 
Exeunt  Benuolio,  Mercutio. 

Nur:    Marry  farewell.    Pray  what  faucie  marchant  was 
this  that  was  fo  full  of  his  roperipe? 

Rom :    A  gentleman  Nurfe  that  loues  to  heare  himfelfe       940 
talke,  and  will  fpeake  more  in  an  houre  than  hee  will  fland 
to  in  a  month. 

Nur:    If  hee  fland  to  anie  thing  againft  mee,  He  take 
him  downe  if  he  were  luflier  than  he  is :  if  I  cannot  take  him 
downe,  He  finde  them  that  (hall :  I  am  none  of  his  flurt-       945 
gills,  I  am  none  of  his  skaines  mates. 

She  turnes  to  Peter  her  man. 
And  thou  like  a  knaue  mufl  fland  by,  and  fee  euery  lacke 
vfe  me  at  his  pleafure. 

Pet :    I  fee  no  bodie  vfe  you  at  his  pleafure,  if  I  had,  I 
would  foone  haue  drawen  :  you  know  my  toole  is  as  foone       950 
out  as  anothers  if  I  fee  time  and  place. 

Nur:  Now  afore  God  he  hath  fo  vext  me,  that  euerie 
member  about  me  quiuers :  fcuruie  lacke.  But  as  I  faid,  my 
Ladie  bad  me  feeke  ye  out,  and  what  fhee  bad  me  tell  yee, 
that  He  keepe  to  my  felfe :  but  if  you  fhould  lead  her  into  a  955 
fooles  paradice  as  they  faye,  it  were  a  verie  groffe  kinde  of 
behauiour  as  they  fay,  for  the  Gentlewom  an  is  yong.  Now 
if  you  fhould  deale  doubly  with  her,  it  were  verie  weake 
dealing,  and  not  to  be  offered  to  anie  Gentlewoman. 

Rom :    Nurfe,  commend  me  to  thy  Ladie,  tell  her  I  pro-       96c 
tefl. 

Nur:    Good  heart :  y faith  He  tell  her  fo:  oh  (he  will  be 
a  ioyfull  woman. 

Rom :    Why,  what  wilt  thou  tell  her  ? 

Nur:    That  you  doo  protefl:  which  (as  I  take  it)  is  a      965 
Gentlemanlike  proffer. 

Rom :    Bid  her  get  leaue  to  morrow  morning 
To  come  to  (hrift  to  Frier  Laurence  cell : 
And  (lay  thou  Nurfe  behinde  the  Abbey  wall. 
My  manfhall  come  to  thee,  and  bring  along  970 

The  cordes,  made  like  a  tackled  (laire, 
Which  to  the  high  top-gallant  of  myioy 
Mufl  be  my  conducSl  in  the  fecret  night. 


938.     marchant]  merchant    S.  M.  C.  945.     flurt-]  flurt-     S.  M.  C. 

28* 


i 


330  ^'^'  excellent  Tr age  die 

Hold,  take  that  for  thy  paines. 

Nur:    No,  not  a  penie  truly.  975 

R(?w :     I  fay  you  fhall  not  chufe. 

N«r:    Well,  to  morrow  morning  fhe  fhall  not  faiie. 

R^w :    Farewell,  be  trudie,  and  He  quite  thy  paine.  Exit 

Kur:     Peter,  take  my  fanne,  and  goe  before.  Ex.  omnes. 

Enter  luliet. 

y^ul :    The  clocke  flroke  nine  when  I  did  fend  my  Nurfle     980 
In  halfe  an  houre  fhe  promill  to  returne. 
Perhaps  fhe  cannot  finde  him.     Thats  not  fo, 
Oh  fhe  is  lazie,  Loues  heralds  fhould  be  thoughts. 
And  runne  more  fwift,  than  haflie  powder  fierd, 
Doth  hurrie  from  the  fearfull  Cannons  mouth.  985 

Enter  Nu/ye. 
Oh  now  fhe  comes.     Tell  me  gentle  Nurfe, 
What  fayes  my  Loue  ? 

N«r.-  Oh  I  am  wearie,  let  mee  refl  a  while.  Lord  how 
my  bones  ake.  Oh  wheres  my  man  /  Giue  me  fome  aqua 
vitse.  990 

full     I  would  thou  hadfl  my  bones,  and  I  thy  newes. 

N//r.-  Fie,  what  a  iaunt  haue  I  had  :  and  my  backe  a  to- 
ther  fide,    Lord,  Lord,  what  a  cafe  am  I  in. 

yul:    But  tell  me  fweet  Nurfe,  what  fayes  "Romeo P 

N«r.-    Romeo,  nay,  alas  you  cannot  chufe  a  man.    Hees       995 
no  bodie,  he  is  not  the  Flower  of  curtefie,  he  is  not  a  proper 
man :  and  for  a  hand,  and  a  foote,  and  a  baudie,  wel  go  thy 
way  wench,  thou  hast  it  ifaith.     Lord,  Lord,  how  my  head 
beates  / 

Jul :    What  of  all  this/  tell  me  what  fayes  he  to  our  ma-     1000 
fiage  ? 

"Sur:  Marry  he  fayes  like  an  honefl  Gentleman,  and  a 
kinde,  and  I  warrant  a  vertuous :  wheres  your  Mother/ 

lul:    Lord,  Lord,  how  odly  thou  repliefl/  Hefaieslikea 
kinde  Gentleman,  and  an  honefl,  and  a  vertuous ;  wheres     1005 
your  mother/ 

N«r;  Marry  come  vp,  cannot  you  flay  a  while  /  is  this 
the  poulteffe  for  mine  aking  boanes/  next  arrant  youl  haue 
done,  euen  doot  your  felfe. 

/ul:    Nay  flay  fweet  Nurfe,  I  doo  intreate  thee  now,         loio 
What  fayes  my  Loue,  my  Lord,  my  Romeo? 

Nz/r.-    Goe,  hye  you  flraight  to  Friar  Laurence  Cell, 
And  frame  a  fcife  that  you  mufl  goe  to  fhrift : 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  33' 

There  Hayes  a  Bridegroome  to  make  you  a  Bride. 

Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  vp  in  your  cheekes,  1015 

I  mull  prouide  a  ladder  made  of  cordes, 

With  which  your  Lord  mufl  clime  a  birdes  nefl  foone. 

I  mull  take  paines  to  further  your  delight, 

But  you  mufl  beare  the  burden  foone  at  night. 

Doth  this  newes  pleafe  you  now/  1020 

Jul :    How  doth  her  latter  words  reuiue  my  hart. 
Thankes  gentle  Nurfe,  difpatch  thy  bufmes, 
And  He  not  fade  to  meete  my  Borneo.  Exeunt. 

Enter  'R.omeo,  Frier. 

Koni :    Now  Father  Laurence,  in  thy  holy  grant 
Confifls  the  good  of  me  and  \uliet.  1025 

Fr:    Without  more  words  I  will  doo  all  I  may, 
To  make  you  happie  if  in  me  it  lye. 

R(?///.-    This  morning  here  (he  pointed  we  fhould  meet, 
And  confumate  thofe  neuer  parting  bands, 

Witnes  of  our  harts  loue  by  ioyning  hands,  1030 

And  come  fhe  will. 

Fr:    I  geffe  fhe  will  indeed. 
Youths  loue  is  quicke,  fwifter  than  fwiftefl  fpeed. 

Yinter  luliet  fomewhat  fajl,  and  embraceth  'Rx?meo. 
See  where  fhe  comes. 

So  light  of  foote  nere  hurts  the  troden  flower :  1035 

Of  loue  and  ioy,  fee  fee  the  foueraigne  power. 

lul :    'Borneo. 

Rom :    My  luliet  welcome.    As  doo  waking  eyes 
(Cloafd  in  Nights  myfls)  attend  the  frolicke  Day, 
So  Romeo  hath  expedled  luliet,  1040 

And  thou  art  come. 

yul:    I  am  (if  I  be  Day) 
Come  to  my  Sunne :  fhine  foorth,  and  make  me  faire. 

Rom :    All  beauteous  fairnes  dwelleth  in  thine  eyes. 

Jul :    Romeo  from  thine  all  brightnes  doth  arife.  104s 

Fr:    Come  wantons,  come,  the  flealing  houres  do  palfe 
Defer  imbracements  till  fome  fitter  time, 
Part  for  a  while,  you  fhall  not  be  alone. 
Till  holy  Church  haue  ioynd  ye  both  in  one. 

Rom:    Lead  holy  Father,  all  delay  feemes  long.  1050 

lul :    Make  hafl,  make  hafl,  this  lingring  doth  vs  wrong. 

1047.     fitter]  fitrer     C. 


33  2  The  excellent  Tr age  die 

Fr:    O,  foft  and  faire  makes  fweetefl  worke  they  fay. 
Haft  is  a  common  hindrer  in  crofle  way.       Exeunt  omnes. 

Enter  Benuolio,  Mercutio. 

Ben:    I  pree  thee  good  Mercutio  lets  retire, 
The  day  is  hot,  the  Capels  are  abroad.  1055 

Mer:  Thou  art  like  one  of  thofe,  that  when  hee  comes 
into  the  confines  of  a  tauerne,  claps  me  his  rapier  on  the 
boord,  and  fayes,  God  fend  me  no  need  of  thee :  and  by 
the  operation  of  the  next  cup  of  wine,  he  drawes  it  on  the 
drawer,  when  indeed  there  is  no  need.  1060 

Ben :    Am  I  like  fuch  a  one  ? 

Mer-,  Go  too,  thou  art  as  hot  a  lacke  being  mooude, 
and  as  foone  niooude  to  be  moodie,  and  as  foone  moodie  to 
be  mooud. 

Ben:    And  what  too?  1065 

Mer :  Nay,  and  there  were  two  fuch,  wee  (hould  haue 
none  (hortly.  Didft  not  thou  fall  out  with  a  man  for  crack- 
ing of  nuts,  hauing  no  other  reafon,  but  becaufe  thou  hadft 
hafiU  eyes?  what  eye  but  fuch  an  eye  would  haue  pickt  out 
fuch  a  quarrell  ?  With  another  for  coughing,  becaufe  hee  1070 
wakd  thy  dogge  that  lay  a  fleepe  in  the  Sunne  ?  With  a 
Taylor  for  wearing  his  new  dublet  before  Eafter :  and 
with  another  for  tying  his  new  fhoes  with  olde  ribands. 
And  yet  thou  wilt  forbid  me  of  quarrelling. 

Ben:    By  my  head  heere  comes  a  Capolet.  1075 

Enter  Tybalt. 

Mer :    By  my  heele  I  care  not. 

Tyb :    Gentlemen  a  word  with  one  of  you. 

Mer:  But  one  word  with  one  of  vs  ?  You  had  beft  couple 
it  with  fomewhat,  and  make  it  a  word  and  a  blow. 

Tyb:    I  am  apt  enough  to  that  if  I  haue  occafion.  1080 

Mer:    Could  you  not  take  occafion/ 

Tyb:    Mercutio  thou  conforts  with  Romeo} 

Mer:  Confort.  Zwounes  confort?the  flaue  wil  make  fid- 
lers  of  vs.  If  you  doe  firra,  look  for  nothing  but  difcord  :  For 
heeres  my  fiddle-fticke.  1085 

Enter  'Komeo. 

Tyb:    Well  peace  be  with  you,  heere  comes  my  man. 
Mer:    But  He  be  hanged  if  he  weare  your  lyuery :  Mary 


Io6q      drawer]  drawr     3  1083.     Confort.]  Confort,     S.  AI. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  333  . 

go  before  into  the  field,  and  he  may  be  your  follower,  fo  in 
that  fence  your  worfhip  may  call  him  man. 

Tyb:  'Borneo  the  hate  I  beare  to  thee  can  affo  )rd  no  bet-  1090 
ter  words  then  thefe,  thou  art  a  villaine. 

^om:  Tybalt  the  loue  I  beare  to  thee,  doth  excufe  the 
appertaming  rage  to  fuch  a  word: villaine  am  I  none,  ther- 
fore  I  well  perceiue  thou  knowfl  me  not. 

Tyb :    Bace  boy  this  cannot  feme  thy  turne,  and  therefore  1095 
drawe. 

R^  .•  I  doe  protefl  I  neuer  iniured  thee,  but  loue  thee  bet- 
ter than  thou  canll  deuife,  till  thou  (halt  know  the  reafon  of 
ray  loue. 

Mer:    O  difhonorable  vile  fubmiflion.  AllaJlockadoca.x\t%  iioo 
it  away.    You  Ratcatcher,  come  backe,  come  backe. 

Tyb :    What  wouldeft  with  me  ? 

Mer:  Nothing  King  of  Gates,  but  borrow  one  of  your 
nine  Hues,  therefore  come  drawe  your  rapier  out  of  your 
fcabard,  leafl  mine  be  about  your  eares  ere  you  be  a  ware.     1105 

Rom:  Stay  Tibalt,  hould  Mercutio  :  Benuolio  beate 
downe  their  weapons. 

Tibalt  vnder  Ronieos  arme  thrujls  Mer- 
cutio, in  and  fly  es. 

Mer:  Is  he  gone,  hath  hee  nothing  ?  A  poxe  on  your 
houfes. 

Rom :    What  art  thou  hurt  man,  the  wound  is  not  deepe.   mo 

Mer:  Noe  not  fo  deepe  as  a  Well,  not  fo  wide  as  a 
barne  doore,  but  it  will  ferue  I  warrant.  What  meant  you  to 
come  betweene  vs  ?   I  was  hurt  vnder  your  arme. 

Rom :    I  did  all  for  the  bed. 

Mer:    Apoxe  of  your  houfes,  I  am  fairely  dreft.     Sirra  11 15 
goe  fetch  me  a  Surgeon. 

Boy :    I  goe  my  Lord. 

Mer:  I  am  pepperd  for  this  world,  I  am  fped  yfaith,  he 
hath  made  wormes  meate  of  me,  &  ye  aske  for  me  to  mor- 
row you  (hall  finde  me  a  graue-man.  A  poxe  of  your  houfes,  11 20 
I  fhall  be  fairely  mounted  vpon  foure  mens  fhoulders :  For 
your  houfe  of  the  Mountegues  and  the  Capolets:  and  then 
feme  peafantly  rogue,  fome  Sexton,  fome  bafe  flaue  fhall 
write  my  Epitapth,  th/t  Tybalt  came  and  broke  the  Princes 
Lawes,  and  Mercutio  was  flaine  for  the  firft.  and  fecond  11 25 
caufe.    Wher's  the  Surgeon  ? 


I II I.     not  fo  wide]  nor  so  wide     S.  M.  C. 


334  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Boy.    Hee's  come  fir. 

Mer:  Now  heele  keepe  a  mumbling  in  my  guts  on  the 
other  fide,come  Benuolio,\tnd  me  thy  hand  :  a  poxe  of  your 
houfes.  Exeunt         1 1 30 

Rom:    This  Gentleman  the  Princes  neere  Alie. 
My  very  frend  hath  tane  this  mortall  wound 
In  my  behalfe,  my  reputation  flaind 
With  Tibalis  flaunder,  Tybalt  that  an  houre 
Hath  beene  my  kinfman,   Ah.  In  lie  t  1135 

Thy  beautie  makes  me  thus  efieminate, 
And  in  my  temper  foftens  valors  fleele. 

Enter  Benuolio. 

Ben:    Ah  Romeo  Romeo  braue  Mercutio  is  dead, 
That  gallant  fpirit  hath  afpir'd  the  cloudes, 
Which  too  vntimely  fcornd  the  lowly  earth.  11 40 

Rom :  This  daies  black  fate,  on  more  dales  doth  depend 
This  but  begins  what  other  dayes  mufl  end. 

Enter  Tibalt. 

Ben :    Heere  comes  the  furious  Tibalt  backe  againe. 

Rom :   A  Hue  in  tryumph  and  Mercutio  flaine  / 
Away  to  heauen  refpe(51:iue  lenity:  1145 

And  fier  eyed  fury  be  my  condudl  now. 
Now  Tibalt  take  the  villaine  backe  againe, 
Which  late  thou  gau'fl  me  :  for  Mercutios  foule, 
Is  but  a  little  way  aboue  the  cloudes, 

And  flaies  for  thine  to  beare  him  company.  1150 

Or  thou,  or  I,  or  both  fhall  follow  him. 

Eight,  Tibalt  falles. 
Ben:    Romeo  away,  thou  feefl  that  TibaW s  flaine, 
The  Citizens  approach,  away,  begone 
Thou  wilt  be  taken. 

Kom:    Ah  I  am  fortunes  flaue.  X155 

Exeunt 
Enter  Citizens. 

Watch.    Wher's  he  that  flue  Mercutio,  Tybalt  that  vil- 
laine? 

"Ren :    There  is  that  Tybalt. 
Vp  firra  goe  with  vs. 

fc— ■  —  ——..■■ ■ —   I  ■— -II  ,  ^,    I  .1.,  — — 

I132.     frend]  friend     S.  Af.  I '55-     kinfman,]  kinfman.     S.M.C. 

1 159.     Watch:  which  is  found  in  S.  and  M.,  is  omitted  in  the  text;  '  Watch:   Vp 
b  the  catchwoid  of  the  previous  page. 


of  Romeo  and  lultei.  335 

Enter  Prince,  Capolets  wife.  — 

Pry:    Where  be  the  vile  beginners  of  this  fray?  1160 

Ben :    Ah  Noble  Prince  I  can  difccuer  Vil 
The  mofl  vnlucky  mannage  of  this  brawle. 
Heere  lyes  the  man  flaine  by  yong  Borneo, 
That  flew  thy  kinfman  braue  Mercutio, 

M  :     Tibalt,  Tybalt,  O  my  brothers  child,  1165 

Vnhappie  fight?   Ah  the  blood  is  fpilt 
Of  my  deare  kinfman,  Prince  as  thou  art  true : 
For  blood  of  ours,  flied  bloud  of  Mountagew. 

Pry :    Speake  Benuolio  who  began  this  fray  ? 

Ben :     Tibalt  heere  flaine  whom  ^o7neos  hand  did  flay.        1 1 70 
Borneo  who  fpake  him  fayre  bid  him  bethinke 
How  nice  the  quarrell  was. 
But  Tibalt  fl.ill  perfifl-ing  in  his  wrong. 
The  flout  Mercutio  drewe  to  calme  the  ftorme. 
Which  Borneo  feeing  cal'd  flay  Gentlemen,  11 75 

And  on  me  cry'd,  who  drew  to  part  their  flrife, 
And  with  his  agill  arme  yong  Romeo, 
As  fafl  as  tung  crydepeace,  fought  peace  to  make. 
While  they  were  enterchanging  thrufls  and  blows, 
Vnder  yong  'R.o7neos  laboring  arme  to  part,  1180 

The  furious  Tybalt  caft  an  enuious  thruft, 
That  rid  the  life  of  flout  Mercutio. 
With  that  he  fled,  but  prefently  return'd, 
And  with  his  rapier  braued  'R.omeo: 

That  had  but  newly  entertain' d  reuenge.  1185 

And  ere  I  could  drawforth  my  rapyer 
To  part  their  furie,  downe  did  Tybalt  fall, 
And  this  way  Borneo  fled. 

Mo :    He  is  a  Mountagew  and  fpeakes  partial!,  — ' 

Some  twentie  of  them  fought  in  this  blacke  flrife :  IIQO 

And  all  thofe  twenty  could  but  kill  one  life. 
I  doo  intreate  fweete  Prince  thoult  iuflice  giue, 
Romeo  flew  Tybalt,  Romeo  may  not  Hue. 

Prin :    And  for  that  offence 
Immediately  we  doo  exile  him  hence.  1195 

I  haue  an  interefl  in  your  hates  proceeding, 
My  blood  for  your  rude  braules  doth  lye  a  bleeding. 
But  He  amerce  you  with  fo  large  a  fine, 
That  you  fhall  all  repent  the  lofle  of  mine. 

1 189.     Mo:'\  Ro:    M. 


33^  The  excellent  Tra^edie 

I  will  be  deafe  to  pleading  and  excufes,  laoo 

Nor  teares  nor  prayers  fhall  purchafe  for  abufes. 

Pittie  fhall  dwell  and  gouerne  with  vs  flill ; 

Mercie  to  all  but  murdrers,  pardoning  none  that  kill. 

Exeunt  omnes. 
Enter  luliet. 

Jul :    Gallop  apace  you  fierie  footed  fteedes 
To  Phoebus  manfion,  fuch  a  Waggoner  1205 

As  Phaeton,  would  quickly  bring  you  thether. 
And  fend  in  cloudie  night  immediately. 

Enter  Nurfe  wringing  her  hands,  with  the  ladder 
of  cordes  in  her  lap. 

But  how  now  Nurfe:  O  Lord,  why  lookft  thou  fad? 
What  haft  thou  there,  the  cordes? 

Nur :    I,  I,  the  cordes:  alacke  we  are  vndone,  1210 

We  are  vndone,  Ladie  we  are  vndone. 

lul :    What  diuell  art  thou  that  torments  me  thus? 

Nurf:    Alack  the  day,  hees  dead,  hees  dead,  hees  dead. 

'yul:    This  torture  fhould  be  roard  in  dif  mall  hell. 
Can  heauens  be  fo  enuious?  1215 

Nur:    Romeo  can  if  heauens  cannot. 
I  faw  the  wound,  I  faw  it  with  mine  eyes, 
God  faue  the  fample,  on  his  manly  bread : 
A  bloodie  coarfe,  a  piteous  bloodie  coarfe, 
All  pale  as  afhes,  I  fwounded  at  the  fight.  1220 

lul :    Ah  Romeo,  Romeo,  what  difafter  hap 
Hath  feuerd  thee  from  thy  true  Juliet? 
Ah  why  fhould  Heauen  fo  much  confpire  with  Woe 
Or  Fate  enuie  our  happie  Marriage, 
So  foone  to  funder  vs  by  timeleffe  Death?  122'; 

Nur:    O  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  beft  frend  1  had, 
O  honeft  Tybalt,  curteous  Gentleman. 

lul:    What  ftorme  is  this  that  blowes  fo  contrarie. 
Is  Tybalt  dead,  and  Romeo  murdered  : 

My  deare  loude  coufen,  and  my  deareft  Lord.  1230 

Then  let  the  trumpet  found  a  generall  doome, 
Thefe  two  being  dead,  then  lining  is  there  none. 

Nur :     Tybalt  is  dead,  and  Romeo  bani(hed, 
Romeo  that  murdred  him  is  baniftied. 

Jul:    Ah  heauens,  di\A  Rorneos  hand  (hed  Tybalts  blood?  1235 

1235.     blood?]  blood!     S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  337 

Nur:    It  did,  it  did,  alacke  the  day  it  did. 
Jul:    O  ferpents  hate,  hid  with  a  flowring  face: 

0  painted  fepulcher,  including  filth. 

Was  neuer  booke  containing  fo  foule  mattter, 

So  fairly  bound.     Ah,  what  meant  Romeo  f  1240 

Nur:    There  is  no  truth,  no  faith,  no  honeflie  in  men: 
All  falfe,  all  faithles,  periurde,  all  forfwome. 
Shame  come  ro  Romeo. 

\ul:    A  blifler  on  that  tung,  he  was  not  borne  to  fliame: 
Vpon  his  face  Shame  is  afliamde  to  fit.  1245 

But  wherefore  villaine  didfl  thou  kill  my  Coufen? 
That  villaine  Coufen  would  haue  kild  my  husband. 
All  this  is  comfort.     But  there  yet  remaines 
Worfe  than  his  death,  which  faine  I  would  forget : 
But  ah,  it  preffeth  to  my  memorie,  1250 

Romeo  is  banifhed.     Ah  that  word  Banifhed 
Is  worfe  than  death.     'R.omeo  is  banifhed. 
Is  Father,  Mother,  Tybalt,  luliet, 
All  killd,  all  flaine,  all  dead,  all  banifhed. 
Where  are  my  Father  and  my  Mother  Nurfe?  1255 

Nur:    Weeping  and  wayling  ouer  Tybalts  coarfe. 
Will  you  goe  to  them  ? 

lul :    I,  I,  when  theirs  are  fpent, 
Mine  (hall  be  fhed  for  Komeos  banifliment. 

N«r.-    Ladie,  your  'R.omeo  will  be  here  to  night,  1200 

He  to  him,  he  is  hid  at  Laurence  Cell. 

lul:    Doo  fo,  and  beare  this  Ring  to  my  true  Knight, 
And  bid  him  come  to  take  his  lafl  farewell.  Exeunt. 

Enter  Frier. 

Fr :    'R.omeo  come  forth,  come  forth  thou  fearfull  man, 
Afflidlion  is  enamourd  on  thy  parts,  1265 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  Calamitie. 

Enter  'R.omeo. 

Kom :    Father  what  newes,  what  is  the  Princes  doome, 
What  Sorrow  craues  acquaintance  at  our  hands. 
Which  yet  we  know  not. 

Fr:    Too  familiar  1270 

Is  my  yong  fonne  with  fuch  fowre  ccmpanie : 

1  bring  thee  tidings  of  the  Princes  doome. 

Kom :    What  lelTe  than  doomes  day  is  the  Princes  doome  ? 

1240.     meant]  ment     M. 
29  W 


\^S  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Fr:    A  gentler  iudgement  vaniflit  from  his  lips, 
Not  bodies  death,  but  bodies  banifhment.  1175 

R/7;w.-    Ha,  Banifhed?  be  mercifull,  fay  death: 
For  Exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  lookes. 
Than  death  it  felfe,  doo  not  fay  Banifhment. 

Fr:    Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  baniftied  : 
Be  pattcnt,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide.  laSo 

"Kom :    There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls, 
But  purgatorie,  torture,  hell  it  felfe. 
Hence  baniftied,  is  banifht  from  the  world : 
And  world  exilde  is  death.     Calling  death  baniftiment, 
Thou  cutft  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe,  1285 

And  fmilefl  vpon  the  flroke  that  murders  me. 

Fr:    Oh  monflrous  fmne,  O  rude  vnthankfulnes : 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death,  but  the  milde  Prince 
(Taking  thy  part)  hath  rufhd  afide  the  law, 

And  turnd  that  blacke  word  death  to  banifhment :  1 290 

This  is  meere  mercie,  and  thou  feeft  it  not. 

Rom :    Tis  torture  and  not  mercie,  heauen  is  heere 
Where  luliet  liues :  and  euerie  cat  and  dog. 
And  little  moufe,  euerie  vnworthie  thing 

Line  here  in  heauen,  and  may  looke  on  her,  1295 

But  "RMmeo  may  not.     More  validitie, 
More  honourable  flate,  more  courtfhip  liues 
In  carrion  flyes,  than  Borneo :  they  may  feaze 
On  the  white  wonder  of  faire  Juliets  skinne. 
And  fleale  immortall  kiffes  from  her  lips ;  1300 

But  "R-omeo  may  not,  he  is  banifhed. 
Flies  may  doo  this,  but  I  from  this  mufl  flye. 
Oh  Father  hadfl  thou  no  flrong  poyfon  mixt. 
No  fharpe  ground  knife,  no  prefent  meane  of  death, 
Though  nere  fo  meane,  but  banifhment  1305 

To  torture  me  withall :  ah,  banifhed. 
O  Frier,  the  damned  vfe  that  word  in  hell : 
Howling  attends  it.     How  hadfl  thou  the  heart, 
Being  a  Diuine,  a  ghoftly  ConfefTor, 

A  fmne  abfoluer,  and  my  frend  profefl,  1310 

To  mangle  me  with  that  word,  Banifhment^ 

Fr:    Thou  fond  mad  man,  heare  me  but  fpeake  a  word. 

"Burnt :    O,  thou  wilt  talke  againe  of  Banifhment. 

Fr:    He  giue  thee  armour  to  beare  off  this  word, 

1295.     here]  heere     S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  339 

Aduerfities  fweete  milke,  p.nlofophie,  1315 

To  comfort  thee  though  thou  be  banilhed. 

^Siom. :    Yet  Banifhed  ?  hang  vp  philofophie, 
Vnleffe  philofophie  can  make  a  Jhiliety 
Difplant  a  Towne,  reuerfe  a  Princes  doome, 
It  helpes  not,  it  preuailes  not,  talke  no  more.  1320 

Fr:    O,  now  I  fee  that  madmen  haue  no  eares. 

Rom :    How  (hould  they,  when  that  wife  men  haue  no 
eyes. 

Fr:    Let  me  difpute  with  thee  of  thy  eflate. 

Rom :    Thou  canft.  not  fpeak  of  what  thou  doll  not  feele.   1325 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  lu/i'ef  thy  Loue, 
An  houre  but  married,  Tybalt  murdred. 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banifhed. 
Then  mightfl  thou  fpeake,  then  mightfl  thou  teare  thy 

hayre.  1330 

And  fall  vpon  the  ground  as  I  doe  now. 
Taking  the  meafure  of  an  vnmade  graue. 

Nurfe  knockes. 

FV:    'Borneo  arife,  fland  vp  thou  wilt  be  taken, 
I  heare  one  knocke,  arife  and  get  thee  gone. 

Nu:    Hoe  Fryer.  4335 

Fr:    Gods  will  what  wilfulnes  is  this  ? 

Shee  knockes  againe. 

Nur:    Hoe  Fryer  open  the  doore, 

Fr:    By  and  by  I  come.  Who  is  there/ 

Nur:    One  from  Lady  luliet. 

Fr:    Then  come  neare.  1340 

Nur:    Oh  holy  Fryer,  tell  mee  oh  holy  Fryer, 
Where  is  my  Ladies  LordPWher's  Komeol 

Fr:    There  on  the  ground,  with  his  owne  teares  made 
drunke. 

Nur:    Oh  he  is  euen  in  my  Miflreffe  cafe.  1345 

lufl  in  her  cafe.  Oh  wofuU  fimpathy, 
Pitteous  predicament,  euen  fo  lyes  (hee. 
Weeping  and  blubbring,  blubbring  and  weeping : 
Stand  vp,  fland  vp,  fland  and  you  be  a  man. 
For  Juliets  fake,  for  her  fake  rife  and  fland,  1350 

Why  fhould  you  fall  into  fo  deep  an  O. 

He  ri/es. 
"Sitwteo :    Nurfe. 


340  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Nur:    Ah  fir,  ah  fir.Wel  death's  the  end  of  all. 

R^w;    Spakefl.  thou  oi luliet,  how  is  it  with  her? 
Doth  (he  not  thinke  me  an  olde  murderer,  1355 

Now  I  haue  flainde  the  childhood  of  her  ioy. 
With  bloud  remou'd  but  little  from  her  owne? 
Where  is  fhe?  and  how  doth  (he/  And  what  fayes 
My  conceal'd  Lady  to  our  canceld  loue? 

Nur:    Oh  fhe  faith  nothing,  but  weepes  and  pules,  1360 

And  now  fals  on  her  bed,  now  on  the  ground. 
And  Tybalt  cryes,  and  then  on  Romeo  calles. 

R<7w  .•    As  if  that  name  (hot  from  the  deadly  leuel  of  a  gun 
Did  murder  her,  as  that  names  curfed  hand 
Murderd  her  kinfman.Ah  tell  me  holy  Fryer  1361; 

In  what  vile  part  of  this  Anatomy 
Doth  my  name  lye  /Tell  me  that  I  may  facke 
The  hatefull  manfion  / 

He  offers  to  Jlab  hi7nfelfet  and  Nur/e /notches 

the  dagger  away. 

Nur:    Ah? 

Fr:    Hold,  flay  thy  hand:  art  thou  a  man?  thy  forme       1370 
Cryes  out  thou  art,  but  thy  wilde  a6les  denote 
The  vnrefonable  furyes  of  a  bead. 
Vnfeemely  woman  in  a  feeming  man, 
Or  ill  befeeming  bead  in  feeming  both. 

Thou  hafl  amaz'd  me. By  my  holy  order,  1375 

I  thought  thy  difpofition  better  temperd. 
Haft  thou  flaine  Tybalfi  wilt  thou  (lay  thy  felfe? 
And  (lay  thy  Lady  too,  that  Hues  in  thee? 
Roufe  vp  thy  fpirits,  thy  Lady  luliet  Hues, 

For  whofe  fweet  fake  thou  wert  but  lately  dead:  1380 

There  art  thou  happy.  Tybalt  would  kill  thee, 
But  thou  flued  Tybalt,  there  art  thou  happy  too. 
A  packe  of  bleffings  lights  vpon  thy  backe, 
Happines  Courts  thee  in  his  bed  array: 

But  like  a  misbehaude  and  fullen  wench  '385 

Thoufrownd  vpon  thy  Fate  that  fmilles  on  thee. 
Take  heede,  take  heede,  for  fuch  dye  miferable. 
Goe  get  thee  to  thy  loue  as  was  decreed  : 
Afcend  her  Chamber  Window,  hence  and  comfort  her, 

1353.     death's]  deaths     S.  M.  1354.     her?]  her     S.  M. 

1356.     ioy,]  ioy.     S.  M.  1358.     is  (he  ?]  is  ihe,  5".  i*/", 

1368.     manfion  ?]  manfion.     S.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  34^ 

But  looke  thou  (lay  not  till  the  watch  be  fet :  1390 

For  then  thou  canfl  not  pafTe  to  Mantua. 
Nurfe  prouide  all  things  in  a  readines, 
Comfort  thy  Miflrefle,  hade  the  houfe  to  bed, 
Which  heauy  forrow  makes  them  apt  vnto. 

Nur:    Good  Lord  what  a  thing  learning  is,  1395 

I  could  haue  flayde  heere  all  this  night 
To  heare  good  coimfell.     Well  Sir, 
He  tell  my  Lady  that  you  will  come. 

Rom :    Doe  fo  and  bidde  my  fweet  prepare  to  childe, 
Farwell  good  Nurfe.  140" 

Nurfe  offers  to  goe  in  and  turnes  againe. 
Nur:    Heere  is  a  Ring  Sir,  that  fhe  bad  me  giue  you, 
Rom :    How  well  my  comfort  is  reuiud  by  this. 

Exit  Nurfe. 
Fr:    Soiorne  in  Mantua,  He  finde  out  your  man, 
And  he  fhall  fignifie  from  time  to  time : 

Euery  good  hap  that  doth  befall  thee  heere.  1405 

Farwell. 

Rom :    But  that  a  ioy,  pafl  ioy  cryes  out  on  me. 
It  were  a  griefe  fo  breefe  to  part  with  thee. 

Enter  olde  Capolet  and  his  wife,  with  — ■ 

County  Paris. 

Cap:    Thinges  haue  fallen  out  Sir  fo  vnluck  ly, 

That  we  haue  had  no  time  to  moue  my  daughter.  1410 

Looke  yee  Sir,  fhe  lou'd  her  kinfman  dearely, 

And  fo  did  L  Well,  we  were  borne  to  dye, 

Wife  wher's  your  daughter,  is  fhe  in  her  chamber/ 

I  thinke  Ihe  meanes  not  to  come  downe  to  night. 

Par:    Thefe  times  of  woe  aiToord  no  time  to  wooe,  141^ 

Maddam  farwell,  commend  me  to  your  daughter. 

Paris  offers  to  goe  in,  and  Capolet 
calks  him  againe. 
Cap :    Sir  Paris'}  He  make  a  defperate  tender  of  my  child. 
I  thinke  fhe  will  be  rulde  in  all  refpedles  by  mee : 
But  foft  what  day  is  this  ? 

Par:    Munday  my  Lord.  1420 

Cap:    Oh  then  Wenfday  is  too  foone. 


1395.    is,]  is.     C. 
29* 


342  The  excellent  Tragedit 

On  Thurfday  let  it  be:  you  fhall  be  maried. 

Wee'le  make  no  great  a  doe,  a  frend  or  two,  or  fo: 

For  looke  ye  Sir,  Tybalt  being  flaine  fo  lately, 

It  will  be  thought  we  held  him  careleflye :  1435 

If  we  (hould  reuell  much,  therefore  we  will  haue 

Some  halfe  a  dozen  frends  and  make  no  more  adoe. 

But  what  fay  you  to  Thurfday. 

Par:    My  Lorde  I  wiftie  that  Thurfday  were  to  mor- 
row. i4f 
Cap:    Wife  goe  you  to  your  daughter,  ere  you  goe  to 
bed. 

Acquaint  her  with  the  County  Paris  loue, 

Fare  well  my  Lord  till  Thurfday  next. 

Wife  gette  you  to  your  daughter.  Light  to  my  Chamber.         1435 

Afore  me  it  is  fo  very  very  late. 

That  we  may  call  it  earely  by  and  by. 

Exeunt. 


Enter  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  the  window. 

Jul:    Wilt  thou  be  gone?   It  is  not  yet  nere  day, 
It  was  the  Nightingale  and  not  the  Larke 

That  pierfl  the  fearfull  hollow  of  thine  eare:  1440 

Nightly  (he  fmgs  on  yon  Pomegranate  tree, 
Beleeue  me  loue,  it  was  the  Nightingale. 

Pom :    It  was  the  Larke,  the  Herald  of  the  Morne, 
And  not  the  Nightingale.     See  Loue  what  enuious  flrakes 
Doo  lace  the  feuering  clowdes  in  yonder  Eafl.  1445 

Nights  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  iocond  Day 
Stands  tiptoes  on  the  myflie  mountaine  tops. 
I  mufl  be  gone  and  liue,  or  flay  and  dye. 

y^ul :    Yon  light  is  not  day  light,  I  know  it  I: 
It  is  fome  Meteor  that  the  Sunne  exhales,  1450 

To  be  this  night  to  thee  a  Torch-bearer, 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua. 
Then  flay  awhile,  thou  fhalt  not  goe  foone. 

Pom :    Let  me  flay  here,  let  me  be  tane,  and  dye : 
If  thou  wilt  haue  it  fo,  I  am  content.  1455 

He  fay  yon  gray  is  not  the  Mornings  Eye, 
It  is  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthias  brow. 
He  fay  it  is  the  Nightingale  that  beates 
The  vaultie  heauen  fo  high  aboue  our  heads. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  34i 

And  not  the  Larke  the  Meflenger  of  Morne.  1460 

Come  death  and  welcome,  luliet  wils  it  fo. 
What  fayes  my  Loue?  lets  talke,  tis  not  yet  day. 

j/hil:    It  is,  it  is,  be  gone,  flye  hence  away. 
It  is  the  Larke  that  fmgs  fo  out  of  tune. 

Straining  harfh  Difcords  and  vnpleafmg  Sharpes.  1465 

Some  fay,  the  Larke  makes  fweete  Diuifion  : 
This  doth  not  fo :  for  this  diuideth  vs. 
Some  fay  the  Larke  and  loathed  Toad  change  eyes, 
I  would  that  now  they  had  changd  voyces  too : 
Since  arme  from  arme  her  voyce  doth  vs  affray,  1470 

Hunting  thee  hence  with  Huntfvp  to  the  day. 
So  now  be  gone,  more  light  and  light  it  growes. 

Rom :    More  light  and  light,  more  darke  and  darke  our 
woes. 
Farewell  my  Loue,  one  kifle  and  He  defcend.  147^ 

He  goeth  downe. 

*j^l:    Art  thou  gone  fo,  my  Lord,  my  Loue,  my  Frend  ? 
I  mufl  heare  from  thee  euerie  day  in  the  hower : 
For  in  an  hower  there  are  manie  minutes, 
Minutes  are  dayes,  fo  will  I  numberthem : 

Oh,  by  this  count  I  (hall  be  much  in  yeares,  1480 

Ere  I  fee  thee  againe. 

Rom:    Farewell,  I  will  omit  no  opportunitie 
That  may  conueigh  my  greetings  loue  to  thee. 

lul:    Oh,  thinkft  thou  we  fhall  euer  meete  againe. 

Rom:    No  doubt,  no  doubt,  and  all  this  woe  fhall  feme     1485 
For  fweete  difcourfes  in  the  time  to  come. 

^/.-    Oh  God,  I  haue  an  ill  diuining  foule. 
Me  thinkes  I  fee  thee  now  thou  art  below 
Like  one  dead  in  the  bottome  of  a  Tombe : 
Either  mine  ey  fight  failes,  or  thou  lookfl  pale.  1490 

Rom :    And  trufl  me  Loue,  in  my  eye  fo  doo  you, 
Drie  forrow  drinkes  our  blood  :  adieu,  adieu.  Exit. 

Enter  Nurfe  hajlely. 

Nur:    Madame  beware,  take  heed  the  day  is  broke, 
Your  Mother's  comming  to  your  Chamber,  make  all  fure. 
She  goeth  downe  from  the  window. 

1490.     ey  fight]  ey -fight     S.  M.  C. 


344  The  exi- client  Tr age  die 

Enter  Juliets  Mother,  Nurft. 

'~~  Moth:    Where  are  you  Daughter/  1495 

Nur:    What  Ladie,  Lambe,  what  Juliet? 

Jul :    How  now,  who  calls? 

Nur :    It  is  your  Mother. 

Moth:    Why  how  now  'yuliet? 

Jul :    Madam,  I  am  not  well.  1500 

Moth :     What  euermore  weeping  for  your  Cofens  death : 
I  thinke  thoult  wafh  him  from  his  graue  with  teares. 

\ul\    I  cannot  chufe,  hauing  fo  great  a  lolTe. 

Moth :    I  cannot  blame  thee. 
But  it  greeues  thee  more  that  Villaine  Hues.  1505 

\ul\     What  Villaine  Madame/ 

Moth :    That  Villaine  Romeo. 

\ul\    Villaine  and  he  are  manie  miles  a  funder. 

Moth'.    Content  thee  Girle,  if  I  could  finde  a  man 
I  foone  would  fend  to  Mantua  where  he  is,  1510 

That  ftiould  beflow  on  him  fo  fure  a  draught. 
As  he  fliould  foone  beare  Tybalt  companie. 

lul:     Finde  you  the  meanes,  and  He  finde  fuch  a  man: 
For  whilefl  he  Hues,  my  heart  fhall  nere  be  light 
Till  I  behold  him,  dead  ismypooreheart.  1515 

Thus  for  a  Kinfman  vext?  (newes? 

Moth :    Well  let  that  pafle.    I  come  to  bring  thee  ioyfull 

lul'.    And  ioy  comes  well  in  fuch  a  need  full  time. 

Moth:    Well  then,  thou  hafl  a  carefuU  Father  Girle, 
And  one  who  pittying  thy  needfull  flate,  1520 

Hath  found  thee  out  a  happie  day  of  ioy. 

lul:     What  day  is  that  I  pray  you/ 

Moth:    Marry  my  Childe, 
The  gallant,  yong  and  youthfull  Gendeman, 
The  Countie  Paris  at  Saint  Peters  Church,  1525 

Early  next  Thurfday  morning  mufl  prouide. 
To  make  you  there  a  glad  and  ioyfull  Bride. 

Jul :    Now  by  Saint  Peters  Church  and  Petertoo, 
He  (hall  not  there  make  mee  a  ioyfull  Bride. 
Are  thefe  the  newes  you  had  to  tell  me  of?  1530 

Marrie  here  are  newes  indeed.     Madame  I  will  not  marrie 

yet. 
And  when  I  doo,  it  fhalbe  rather  Romeo  whom  I  hate, 
Than  Countie  Paris  that  I  cannot  loue. 


cf  Romeo  and  Juliet.  345 

Enter  olde  Capolet. 

Moth'.     Here  comes  your  Father,  you  may  tell  him  fo.      1535 

Capo:    Why  how  now,  euermore  fhowring? 
In  one  little  bodie  thou  refemblefl  a  fea,  a  barke,  a  florme: 
For  this  thy  bodie  which  I  tearme  a  barke. 
Still  floating  in  thy  euerfalling  teares, 

And  tofl  with  fighes  arifmg  from  thy  hart:  1540 

Will  without  fuccour  fhipwracke  prefently. 
But  heare  you  Wife,  what  haue  you  founded  her,  what  faies 
(he  to  it? 

Moth :    I  haue,  but  (he  will  none  (he  thankes  ye : 
Would  God  that  flie  were  married  to  her  graue.  1545 

Capo:    What  will  fhe  not,  doth  Ihe  not  thanke  vs,  doth 
(he  not  wexe  proud  ? 

Jul:    Not  proud  ye  haue,  but  thankfull  that  ye  haue: 
Proud  can  I  neuer  be  of  that  I  hate. 
But  thankfull  euen  for  hate  that  is  ment  loue.  1550 

Capo:    Proud  and  I  thanke  you,  and  I  thanke  you  not, 
And  yet  not  proud.  Whats  here,  chop  logicke. 
Proud  me  no  prouds,  nor  thanke  me  no  thankes, 
But  fettle  your  fine  ioynts  on  Thurfday  next 

To  goe  with  Paris  to  Saint  FetersC\mxch,  1555 

Or  I  will  drag  you  on  a  hurdle  thether. 
Out  you  greene  ficknes  baggage,  out  you  tallow  face. 

lu :    Good  father  heare  me  fpeake  ? 

She  kneeles  downe. 

Cap:    I  tell  thee  what,  eyther  refolue  on  thurfday  next 
To  goe  with  Paris  to  Saint /'^/^rxChurch :  15O0 

Or  henceforth  neuer  looke  me  in  the  face 
Speake  not,  reply  not,  for  my  fingers  ytch. 
Why  wife,  we  thought  that  we  were  fcarcely  blefl 
That  God  had  fent  vs  but  this  onely  chyld : 
But  now  I  fee  this  one  is  one  too  much,  1565 

And  that  we  haue  a  crofTe  in  hauing  her. 

Nur:    Mary  God  in  heauen  bleffe  her  my  Lord, 
You  are  too  blame  to  rate  her  fo. 

Cap.    And  why  my  Lady  wifedome?  hold  your  tung, 
Good  prudence  fmatter  with  your  goffips,  goe.  1570 

Nur :    Why  my  Lord  I  fpeake  no  treafon. 

Cap:    Oh  goddegodden. 

1559.     Ihurfday]  Thurfday     S.  M. 


34^  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Vtter  your  grauity  ouer  a  goffips  boule, 
For  heere  wee  need  it  not. 

Mo:    My  lord  ye  are  too  hotte.  1575 

Cap:    Gods  bleffed  mother  wife  it  mads  me, 
Day,  night,  early,  late,  at  home,  abroad, 
Alone,  in  company,  waking  or  fleeping, 
Still  my  care  hath  beene  to  fee  her  matcht. 

And  hauing  now  found  out  a  Gentleman,  1580 

Of  Princely  parentage,  youthfull,  and  nobly  trainde. 
Stuft  as  they  fay  with  honorable  parts, 
Proportioned  as  ones  heart  coulde  wifh  a  man : 
And  then  to  haue  a  wretched  whyning  foole, 
A  puling  mammet  in  her  fortunes  tender,  1585 

To  fay  I  cannot  loue,  I  am  too  young,  I  pray  you  pardon 

mee? 
But  if  you  cannot  wedde  He  pardon  you, 
Graze  where  you  will,  you  fhall  not  houfe  with  me. 
Looke  to  it,  thinke  ont,  I  doe  not  vfe  to  iefl.  1590 

I  tell  yee  what,  Thurfday  is  neere. 
Lay  hand  on  heart,  aduife,  bethinke  your  felfe. 
If  you  be  mine.  He  giue  you  to  my  frend : 
If  not,  hang,  drowne,  flame,  beg. 

Dye  in  the  flreetes;  for  by  my  Soule  1595 

He  neuer  more  acknowledge  thee. 
Nor  what  I  haue  (hall  euer  doe  thee  good, 
Thinke  ont,  looke  toot,  I  doe  not  vfe  to  ieft.  ExiL 

Inl\    Is  there  no  pitty  hanging  in  the  cloudes, 
That  lookes  into  the  bottom  of  my  woes?  1600 

I  doe  befeech  you  Madame,  cafl  me  not  away, 
Defer  this  mariage  for  a  day  or  two, 
Or  if  you  cannot,  make  my  mariage  bed 
In  that  dimme  monument  where  Tybalt  lyes. 

Moth  '.    Nay  be  afTured  I  will  not  fpeake  a  word.  1605 

Do  what  thou  wilt  for  I  haue  done  with  thee.  Exit. 

Jul'.    Ah  Nurfe  what  comfort?  what  rounfell  canfl  thou 
giue  me. 

N«r:    Now  trufl  me  Madame,  I  know  not  what  to  fay: 
Your  Romeo  he  is  banifht,  and  all  the  world  to  nothing  1610 

He  neuer  dares  returne  to  challendge  you, 
Now  I  thinke  goode  you  marry  with  this  County, 
Oh  he  is  a  gallant  Gentleman,  B^omeo  is  but  a  dilhclout 

1581.     parentage,]  parentage     M.  161 1.     you,]  you.     S.M.C. 


of  Romci.  jnd  Juliet.  347 

In  refpedl  of  him.  I  promife  you 

I  thinke  you  happy  in  this  fecond  match.  1615 

As  for  your  husband  he  is  dead  : 

Or  twere  as  good  he  were,  for  you  haue  no  vfe  of  him. 

\ul'.    Speakft  thou  this  from  thy  heart? 

N«r:    I  and  from  my  foule,  or  els  beflirew  them  both. 

\ul\    Amen.  1620 

N«r:    What  fay  you  Madame? 

Jul'.    Well,  thou  hafl  comforted  me  wondrous  much, 
I  pray  thee  goe  thy  waies  vnto  my  mother 
Tellherlamgonehauingdifpleafde  my  Father. 
To  Fryer  Laurence  Cell  to  confeffe  me,  162^ 

And  to  be  abfolu'd. 

Nar:    I  will,  and  this  is  wifely  done. 

She  lookes  after  Huffe. 

lul:    Auncient  damnation,©  mofl  curfed  fiend. 
Is  it  more  fmne  to  wifh  me  thus  forfworne. 

Or  to  difpraife  him  with  the  felfe  fame  tongue  1630 

That  thou  hafl  praifde  him  with  aboue  compare 
So  manythoufand  times  /Goe  Counfellor, 
Thou  and  my  bofom  henceforth  fhalbe  twaine, 
He  to  the  Fryer  to  knowhis  remedy, 

If  all  faile  els,  I  haue  the  power  to  dye.  1635 

Exit. 


Enter  Eryer  and  Parts. 

Er:    On  Thurfday  fay  ye:  the  time  is  very  fliort. 

Far:    My  Father  Capolet  will  haue  it  fo, 
And  I  am  nothing  flacke  to  flow  his  hafl. 

Er'.    You  fay  you  doe  not  know  the  Ladies  minde? 
Vneuen  is  the  courfe,  I  like  it  not.  1640 

Par :    Immoderately  flie  weepes  for  Tybalts  death, 
And  therefore  haue  I  little  talkt  of  loue. 
For  Venus  fmiles  not  in  a  houfe  of  teares, 
Now  Sir,  her  father  thinkes  it  daungerous : 

That  (he  doth  giue  her  forrow  fo  much  fway.  1045 

And  in  his  wifedome  hafts  our  mariage. 
To  ftop  the  inundation  of  her  teares. 
Which  too  much  minded  by  her  felfe  alone 
May  be  put  from  her  by  focietie. 

1635.     If]  om.     M.  (Corrected  in  Errata.) 


34°  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Now  doe  ye  know  the  reafon  of  this  haft.  r65o 

Fr:    I  would  I  knew  not  why  it  ftiould  be  flowd. 

Enter  Paris. 

Heere  comes  the  Lady  to  my  cell, 

Par:    Welcome  my  loue,  my  Lady  and  my  wife: 

lu:     That  may  be  fir,  when  I  may  be  a  wife. 

Par:    That  may  be,  muft  be  loue,  on  thurfday  next.  1655 

lu:     What  muft  be  fhalbe. 

Fr:    Thats  a  certaine  text. 

Par:    What  come  ye  to  confeflion  to  this  Fryer. 

lu :    To  tell  you  that  were  to  confefle  to  you. 

Par:    Do  not  deny  to  him  that  you  loue  me.  1660 

lul:    I  will  confefle  to  you  that  I  loue  him, 

Par:    So  I  am  fure  you  will  that  you  loue  me. 

lu:    And  if  I  doe,  it  wilbe  of  more  price, 
Being  fpoke  behinde  your  backe,  than  to  your  face. 

Par:    Poore  foule  thy  face  is  much  abuf 'd  with  teares.     1665 

lu :    The  teares  haue  got  fmall  vi(5lory  by  that, 
For  it  was  bad  enough  before  their  fpite. 

Par:    Thouwrongft  it  more  than  teares  by  that  report. 

lu :    That  is  no  wrong  fir,  that  is  a  truth  : 
And  what  I  fpake  I  fpake  it  to  my  face.  1670 

Par:    Thy  face  is  mine  and  thou  haft  flaundred  it. 

lu :    It  may  be  fo,  for  it  is  not  mine  owne. 
Are  you  at  leafure  holy  Father  now: 
Orfliall  I  come  to  you  at  euening  Mafl'e  ? 

Fr:  My  leafure  ferues  me  penfiue  daughter  now.  1075 

My  Lord  we  muft  entreate  the  time  alone. 

Par:    God  fheild  I  fhould  difturbe  deuotion, 
luliet  farwell,  and  keep  this  holy  kifle. 

"Exit  Parts. 

lu :    Got  fhut  the  doore  and  when  thou  haft  done  fo, 
Come  weepe  with  me  that  am  paft  cure,  paft  help,  16S0 

Pr:    Ah  luliet  I  already  know  thy  griefe, 
Iheare  thou  muft  and  nothiug  may  proroge  it, 
On  Thurfday  next  be  married  to  the  Countie. 

Jul:    Tell  me  not  Frier  that  thou  hearft  of  it, 
Vnlefl"e  thou  tell  me  how  we  may  preuent  it.  »685 

Giue  me  fome  fudden  counfell :  els  behold 

1652.     Lady]  lady     .S".  C.  1665.     thy]  that     C. 

1675.     penfiue]  pensive     C.  1682      m^thiug]  nothing     S.  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  349 

I'wixt  my  extreames  and  me,  this  bloodie  Knife 

Shall  play  the  Vmpeere,  arbitrating  that 

Which  the  Commifsion  of  thy  yeares  and  arte 

Could  to  no  iffue  of  true  honour  bring.  1690 

Speake  not,  be  briefe :  for  I  defire  to  die. 

If  what  thou  fpeakfl,  fpeake  not  of  remedie. 

Fr\    Stay  yuliet,  I  doo  fpie  a  kinde  of  hope, 
Which  craues  as  defperate  an  execution, 

As  that  is  defperate  we  would  preuent.  1695 

If  rather  than  to  marrie  Countie  Paris 
Thou  hafl  the  flrength  or  will  to  flay  thy  felfe, 
Tis  not  vnlike  that  thou  wilt  vndertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chyde  away  this  fliame, 
That  coapfl  with  death  it  felfe  to  flye  from  blame.  1700 

And  if  thou  doofl,  He  giue  thee  remedie. 

y^ul:    Oh  bid  me  leape  (rather  than  marrie  Paris) 
From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower : 
Or  chaine  me  to  fome  fleepie  mountaines  top, 
Where  roaring  Beares  and  fauage  Lions  are :  1 70H 

Or  fliut  me  nightly  in  a  Charnell-houfe, 
With  reekie  fliankes,  and  yeolow  chaples  fculls : 
Or  lay  me  in  tombe  with  one  new  dead : 
Things  that  to  heare  them  namde  haue  made  me  tremble ; 
And  I  will  doo  it  without  feare  or  doubt,  1710 

To  keep  my  felfe  a  faithfull  vnft,aind  Wife 
To  my  deere  Lord,  my  deerefl  Romeo. 

Fr\    Hold  luliet,  hie  thee  home,  get  thee  to  bed, 
Let  not  thy  Nurfe  lye  with  thee  in  thy  Chamber : 
And  when  thou  art  alone,  take  thou  this  VioU,  1715 

And  this  diflilled  Liquor  drinke  thou  off: 
When  prefently  through  all  thy  veynes  fliall  run 
A  dull  and  heauie  flumber,  which  fliall  feaze 
Each  vitall  fpirit :  for  no  Pulfe  fliall  keepe 

His  naturall  progrefle,  but  furceafe  to  beate :  :  720 

No  figne  of  breath  fliall  teflifie  thou  liuft, 
And  in  this  borrowed  likenes  of  flirunke  death, 
Thou  flialt  remaine  full  two  and  fortie  houres. 
And  when  thou  art  laid  in  thy  Kindreds  Vault, 
He  fend  in  hafl.  to  Mantua  to  thy  Lord,  1725 

And  he  fliall  come  and  take  thee  from  thy  grauc. 

1700.     That]  Thou     C.  1 7 13-     get]  ged     M. 

1723.     houres,]  houres.     S.  M.  C. 
30 


35°  The  excellent  Tragedie 

lul:    Frier  I  goe,  be  fure  thou  fend  for  my  deare  Romeo. 

Exeunt. 


Enter  olde  Capolet,  his  Wife,  Nurfe,  and 
Seruingman. 

Capo:    Where  are  you  firra/ 

S^r:    Heere  forfooth. 

Cape :    Goe,  prouide  me  twentie  cunning  Cookes.  1 730 

S<rr:    I  warrant  you  Sir,  let  me  alone  for  that,  He  knowe 
them  by  licking  their  fingers. 

Capo :    How  canfl  thou  know  them  fo  / 

S<rr:    Ah  Sir,  tis  an  ill  Cooke  cannot  licke  his  owne  fin- 
gers. 1735 

Capo :    Well  get  you  gone. 

Exit  Seruingman. 
But  wheres  this  Head-flrong? 

Moth :    Shees  gone  (my  Lord)  to  Frier  Laurence  Cell 
To  be  confell. 

Capo :    Ah,  he  may  hap  to  doo  fome  good  of  her,  1 740 

A  headflrong  felfewild  harlotrie  it  is. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Moth'.    See  here  fhe  commeth  from  Confefsion, 

Capo :    How  now  my  Head-flrong,  where  haue  you  bin 

gadding  ? 

Jul'.    Where  I  haue  learned  to  repent  the  fin  1745 

Of  froward  wilfull  oppofition 

Gainfl  you  and  your  behefts,  and  am  enioynd 

By  holy  Laurence  to  fall  proftrate  here, 

And  craue  remifsion  of  fo  foule  a  fa<5t. 

S^<f  kneeles  downe. 

Moth'.    Why  thats  well  faid.  1750 

Capo'.    Now  before  God  this  holy  reuerent  Frier 

All  our  whole  Citie  is  much  bound  vnto, 

Goe  tell  the  Countie  prefently  of  this. 

For  I  will  haue  this  knot  knit  vp  to  morrow. 

yul'.    Nurfe,  will  you  go  with  me  to  my  Clofet,  1755 

To  fort  fuch  things  as  (hall  be  requifite 

Again fl  to  morrow. 

1734.     Sir]  fir     S.C.  1 752.     vnto,]  vnto.     S.M.C. 

1757.     morrow.]  morrrow      ^.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  35^ 

Moth:    I  pree  thee  doo,  good  Nurfe  goe  in  with  her, 
Helpe  her  to  fort  Tyres,  Rebatoes,  Chaines, 
And  I  will  come  vnto  you  prefently,  1760 

Nur:    Come  fweet  hart,  ftiall  we  goe* 

lul:    I  pree  thee  let  vs. 

Exeunt  Nurfe  and  Juliet. 

Moth :    Me  thinks  on  Thurfday  would  be  time  enough.  -- 

Capo:    I  fay  I  will  haue  this  difpatcht  to  morrow, 
Goe  one  and  certefie  the  Count  thereof.  176^  _ 

Moth :    I  pray  my  Lord,  let  it  be  Thurfday.  __ 

Capo:    I  fay  to  morrow  while  Ihees  in  the  mood. 

Moth :    We  (hall  be  Ihort  in  our  prouifion. 

Capo:    Let  me  alone  for  that,  goe  get  you  in, 
Now  before  God  my  heart  is  pafsing  light,  1770 

To  fee  her  thus  conformed  to  our  will.  Exeunt. 


Enter  Nurfe ^  Juliet. 
Nur:    Come,  come,  what  need  you  anie  thing  elfe/ 
Jul:    Nothing  good  Nurfe,  but  leaue  me  to  my  felfe: 
For  I  doo  meane  to  lye  alone  to  night. 

Nur:    Well  theres  a  cleane  fmocke  vnder  your  pillow,     1775 
and  fo  good  night.  Exit. 

Enter  Mother. 

Moth :    What  are  you  bufie,  doo  you  need  my  helpe  / 

Jul'.    No  Madame,  I  defire  to  lye  alone, 
For  I  haue  manie  things  to  thinke  vpon. 

Moth:    Well  then  good  night,  be  (lirring /«//>/,  1780 

The  Countie  will  be  earlie  here  to  morrow.  Exit. 

Jul:    Farewell,  God  knowes  when  wee  (hall  meete  a- 
gaine. 
Ah,  I  doo  take  a  fearfuU  thing  in  hand. 

What  if  this  Potion  (hould  not  worke  at  all,  1785 

Muft  I  of  force  be  married  to  the  Countie  f 
This  (hall  forbid  it.     Knife,  lye  thou  there. 
What  if  the  Frier  (hould  giue  me  this  drinke 
To  poyfon  mee,  forfeare  I  (hould  difclofe 

Our  former  marriage?    Ah,  I  wrong  him  much,  1790 

He  is  a  holy  and  religious  Man : 
I  will  not  entertaine  fo  bad  a  thought. 
What  if  I  (hould  be  ftifled  in  the  Toon>b' 


35  2  T^^'  excellent  Tr age  die 

Awake  an  houre  before  the  appointed  time: 
Ah  then  I  feare  I  fhall  be  lunaticke,  iTqj 

And  playing  with  my  dead  forefathers  bones, 
Dafh  out  my  franticke  braines.     Me  thinkes  I  fee 
My  Cofm  Tybalt  weltring  in  his  bloud, 
Seeking  for  Romeo :   flay  Tybalt  flay, 

Romeo  I  come,  this  doe  I  drinke  to  thee.  1800 

She  fals  upon  her  bed  within  the  Curtaines. 

Enter  Nurfe  with  hearbs,  Mother. 

Moth :    Thats  well  faid  Nurfe,  fet  all  in  redines, 
The  Countie  will  be  heere  immediatly. 

Enter  Oldeman.^ 

Cap :    Make  hafl,  make  hafl,  for  it  is  almoft  day. 
The  Curfewe  bell  hath  rung,  t'is  foure  a  clocke, 
Looke  to  your  bakt  meates  good  Angelica.  1805 

Nur:    Gee  get  you  to  bed  you  cotqueane .    I  faith  you 
will  be  ficke  anone. 

Cap:    I  warrant  thee  Nurfe  I  haue  ere  now  watcht  all 
night, and  haue  taken  no  harme  at  all. 

Moth:    I  you  haue  beene  a  moufehunt  in  your  time.  i8io 

Enter  Seruingman  with  Logs  &>  Coales. 

Cap:    Aleloushood, aleloushood:  Hownowfirra? 
What  haue  you  there? 

Ser:    Forfooth  Logs. 

Cap :    Goe,  goe  choofe  dryer .  Will  will  tell  thee  where 
thou  fhalt  fetch  them.  1813 

Ser:  Nay  I  warrant  let  me  alone,  I  haue  a  heade  I  troe  to 
choofe  a  Log. 

Exit. 

Cap:    Well  goe  thy  way,  thou  (halt  be  logger  head. 
Come,  come,  make  hafl  call  vp  your  daughter. 
The  Countie  will  be  heere  with  muficke  flraight.  rSro 

Gods  me  hees  come,  Nurfe  call  vp  my  daughter. 

Nur:  Goe,  get  you  gone.  What  lambe ,  what  Lady 
birde/  fafl  I  warrant.  What  !«//<?/ ?well,  let  the  County  take 
you  in  your  bed :  yee  fleepe  for  a  weeke  now,  but  the  next 
night,  the  Countie  Paris  hath  fetvp  his  red  that  you  fhal  refl  1825 

1799.     flay,]  ftay.    S.  M.  C.  1805.     Angelica]  Angelica    S.  C. 

181 1,     a  lelous  hood]  Jelous  hood    S.  M.  1814.     Will  will]  ff»7/ will    S.M. 


of  Ro*neo  and  Juliet.  355 

but  little  .  What  lambe  I  fay  ,  faft  dill :  what  Lady,  Loue, 
whatbride,what  I«//>/?Gods  me  how  found  Ihe  fleeps/Nay 
then  I  fee  I  mufl  wake  you  indeed. Whats  heere,  laide  on 
your  bed,  drefl  in  your  cloathes  and  down,  ah  me,  alack  the 
day,fome  Aqua  vitse  hoe.  1830 

Enter  Mother. 

Moth'.    How  now  whats  the  matter? 

Nur:    Alack  the  day,  (hees  dead,  fhees  dead,  (hees  dead. 

Moth'.    Accurfl,  vnhappy,  miferable  time. 

Enter  Oldeman. 

Cap:    Come,  come,  make  haft,  wheres  my  daughter? 
Moth'.    Ah  fhees  dead,  fhees  dead.  1835 

Cap-.    Stay,  let  me  fee,  all  pale  and  wan, 
Accurfed  time,vnfortunate  olde  man. 

Enter  Fryer  and  Paris. 

Par:    What  is  the  bride  ready  to  goe  to  Church? 

Cap-.    Ready  to  goe,  but  neuer  to  retume. 
O  Sonne  the  night  before  thy  wedding  day,  1840 

Hath  Death  laine  with  thy  bride,  flower  as  fhe  is, 
Defiowerd  by  him,  fee,  where  fhe  lyes, 
Death  is  my  Sonne  in  Law,  to  him  I  giue  all  that  I  haue. 

Par:    Haue  I  thoughtl  ong  to  fee  this  mornings  face, 
And  doth  it  now  prefent  fuch  prodegies?  1845 

Accurfl,  vnhappy,  miferable  man, 
Forlorne,  forfaken,  deftitute  I  am : 
Borne  to  the  world  to  be  a  flaue  in  it. 
Diftreft,  remediles,  and  vnfortunate. 

O  heauens,  O  nature,  wherefore  did  you  make  me,  1850 

To  Hue  fo  vile,  fo  wretched  as  I  fhall. 

Cap :    O  heere  fhe  lies  that  was  our  hope,  our  ioy, 
And  being  dead,  dead  forrow  nips  vs  all. 

A/i  at  once  cry  out  and  wring  their  hands. 

All  cry:    And  all  our  ioy,  and  all  our  hope  is  dead, 
Dead,  loft,  vndone,  abfented,  wholy  fled.  1855 

Cap:    Cruel,  vniuft,  impartiall  deftinies, 
Why  to  this  day  haue  you  preferu'd  my  life? 


1835.     wan,]  wan.     S.  M.  C.  1843.     haue.]  haue,     C 

210  •  X 


354  The  excellent  Tragedie 

To  fee  ray  hope,  my  flay,  my  ioy,  my  life, 

Depriude  offence,  of  life,  of  all  by  death, 

Cruell,  vniuft,  impartiall  deflinies.  i860 

Cap:    O  fad  fac'd  forrow  map  of  mifery, 
Why  this  fad  time  haue  I  defird  to  fee. 
This  day,  this  vniufl,  this  impartiall  day 
Wherein  I  hop'd  to  fee  my  comfort  full, 
To  be  depriude  by  fuddaine  deflinie.  1865 

Moth'.    O  woe,  alacke,  diflreft,  why  ftiould  I  liue? 
To  fee  this  day,  this  miferable  day. 
Alacke  the  time  that  euer  I  was  borne. 
To  be  partaker  of  this  deflinie, 
Alacke  the  day,  alacke  and  welladay.  1870 

Ft-:    O  peace  for  fhame,  if  not  for  charity. 
Your  daughter  Hues  in  peace  and  happines. 
And  it  is  vaine  to  wifh  it  otherwife. 
Come  flicke  your  Rofemary  in  this  dead  coarfe. 
And  as  the  cuflome  of  our  Country  is,  1875 

In  all  her  befl  and  fumptuous  ornaments, 
Conuay  her  where  her  Anceflors  lie  tomb'd, 

Cap :    Let  it  be  fo,  come  wofuU  forrow  mates. 
Let  vs  together  tafle  this  bitter  fate. 

They  all  but  the  Nurfe  goe  foorth,  cajling  Rofemary  on 

her  andjhutting  the  Curtens. 

Enter  Mufitions. 

Nur:    Put  vp,  put  vp,  this  is  a  wofull  cafe.  Exit.   1880 

I .    Iby  my  troth  MiflrefTe  is  it,  it  had  need  be  mended. 

Enter  Seruingman. 

Ser:    Alack  alack  what  fhal  I  doe,  come  Fidlers  play  mc 

fome  mery  dumpe. 
I.    Afir,thisisno  time  to  play. 

Ser\    You  will  not  then?  1885 

I.    No  marry  will  wee. 

Ser:    Then  will  I  giue  it  you,  and  foundly  to. 
I.    What  will  you  giue  vs? 
Ser:    The  fidler,Ile  re  you.  He  fa  you.  He  fol  you. 
I.    If  you  re  vs  and  favs,  we  will  note  you.  1890 

Ser'.    I  will  put  vp  my  Iron  dagger,  and  beate  you  with 

1869.    deftinie,]  deftinie.     S.  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  355 

my  woddai  wit,     Come  on  Simon  found  Pot,  He  pofe  you, 

I    Lets  heare. 

Ser:    When  griping  griefe  the  heart  doth  wound, 
And  dol  efuU  dumps  the  minde  oppreffe :  1895 

Then  mufique  with  her  filuer  found, 
Why  filuer  found  ?Why  filuer  found  ? 

1.  I  thinke  becaufe  muficke  hath  a  fweet  found. 
Ser:    Pretie,  what  fay  you  Mathew    minikine? 

2.  I  thinke  becaufe  Mufitions  found  for  filuer.  1900 
Ser:    Prettie  too:  come,  what  fay  you? 

3.  I  fay  nothing. 

Ser:    I  thinke  fo,  lie  fpeake  for  you  becaufe  you  are  the 
Singer.     I  faye  Siluer  found,  becaufe  fuch  Fellowes  as  you 
haue  fildome  Golde  for  founding.     Farewell  Fidlers,  fare-  1905 
well.  Exit. 

I.    Farewell  and  be  hangd :  come  lets  goe.  Exeunt. 


Enter  Romeo. 

Rom :    If  I  may  truft  the  flattering  Eye  of  Sleepe, 
My  Dreame  prefagde  fome  good  euent  to  come. 
My  bofome  Lord  fits  chearfuU  in  his  throne,  1910 

And  I  am  comforted  with  pleafmg  dreames. 
Me  thought  I  was  this  night  alreadie  dead : 
(Strange  dreames  that  giue  a  dead  man  leaue  to  thinke) 
And  that  my  Ladie  luliet  came  to  me. 

And  breathd  fuch  life  with  kifles  in  my  lips,  1915 

That  I  reuiude  and  was  an  Emperour. 

Enter  Balthafar  his  man  booted. 

Newes  from  Verona.     How  now  Balthafar^ 

How  doth  my  Ladie?    Is  my  Father  well  f 

How  fares  my  Juliet?  that  I  aske  againe: 

If  ihe  be  well,  then  nothing  can  be  ill.  1920 

Bait :    Then  nothing  can  be  ill,  for  Ihe  is  well, 
Her  bodie  fleepes  in  Capels  Monument, 
And  her  immortall  parts  with  Angels  dwell. 
Pardon  me  Sir,  that  am  the  Meflenger  of  fuch  bad  tidings. 

Rom:    Is  it  euen  fo?  then  I  defie  my  Starres.  1925 

1892.     wit,]  wit.     S.  M.  C.  1892.     found]  found     S.  M.  C. 

1909      come,]  come.     C.  1911.     dreames,]  dreames.     S.M.C. 


35^  The  excellent  Tragedie 

Goe  get  me  incke  and  paper,  hyre  pofl  horfe, 
I  will  not  flay  in  Mantua  to  night. 

Bait :    Pardon  me  Sir,  I  will  not  leaue  you  thus. 
Your  lookes  are  dangerous  and  full  of  feare  : 
I  dare  not,  nor  I  will  not  leaue  you  yet.  1930 

Rom :    Doo  as  I  bid  thee,  get  me  incke  and  paper, 
And  hyre  thofe  horfe  :   flay  not  I  fay. 

Exit  Balthafar. 

Well  luHet,  I  will  lye  with  thee  to  night. 

Lets  fee  for  meanes.     As  I  doo  remember 

Here  dwells  a  Pothecarie  whom  oft  I  noted  1935 

As  I  pafl  by,  whofe  needie  fhop  is  flufTt 

With  beggerly  accounts  of  emptie  boxes : 

And  in  the  fame  an  Aligartaha.ngs, 

Olde  endes  of  packthred,  and  cakes  of  Rofes, 

Are  thinly  flrewed  to  make  vp  a  fhow.  1940 

Him  as  I  noted,  thus  with  my  felfe  I  thought : 

And  if  a  man  ihould  need  a  poyfon  now, 

(Whofe  prefent  fale  is  death  in  Mantua) 

Here  he  might  buy  it.     This  thought  of  mine 

Did  but  forerunne  my  need :  andhere  about  he  dwels,  1945 

Being  Holiday  the  Beggers  fhop  is  fhut, 

What  ho  Apothecarie,  come  forth  I  fay. 

Enter  Apothecarie. 

Apo:    Who  calls,  what  would  you  fir? 

Rom :    Heeres  twentie  duckates, 
Giue  me  a  dram  of  fome  fuch  fpeeding  geere,  1950 

As  will  difpatch  the  wearie  takers  life, 
Asfuddenly  as  powder  being  fierd 
From  forth  a  Cannons  mouth. 

Apo:    Such  drugs  I  haue  I  mufl  of  force  confefTe, 
But  yet  the  law  is  death  to  thofe  that  fell  them.  195^ 

Rom :    Art  thou  fo  bare  and  full  of  pouertie, 
And  doofl  thou  feare  to  violate  the  Law? 
The  Law  is  not  thy  frend,  nor  the  Lawes  frend, 
And  therefore  make  no  confcience  of  the  law : 
Vpon  thy  backe  hangs  ragged  Miferie,  i960 

>933-     night,]  night     S.  M.  C.  1945.     dwels,]  dwels.     5'.  Af.  C. 

1946.     ft-ut,]  fliut.     S.  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  luliet.  357 

And  flamed  Famine  dwelleth  in  thy  cheekes. 

Apo\    My  pouertie  but  not  my  will  confents. 

Rom:    I  pay  thy  pouertie,  but  not  thy  will. 

Apo :    Hold  take  you  this,  and  put  it  in  anie  liquid  thing 
you  will,  and  it  will  ferue  had  you  the  Hues  of  twenty  men.     1965 

Rom:    Hold,  take  this  gold,  worfe  poyfon  to  mens  foules 
Than  this  which  thou  hail  giuen  me.    Goe  hye  thee  hence, 
Goe  buy  the  cloathes,  and  get  thee  into  flefh. 
Come  cordiall  and  not  poyfon,  goe  with  mee 
To  luliets  Graue:  for  there  mud  I  vfe  thee.  Exeunt.     1970 

Enter  Frier  John. 

'jfohn :    What  Frier  Laurence,  Brother,  ho  ? 

Laur:    This  fame  fhould  be  the  voyce  of  Frier  \ohn 
What  newes  from  Mantua,  what  will  Romeo  come? 

\ohn:    Going  to  feeke  a  barefoote  Brother  out, 
One  of  our  order  to  aflbciate  mee,  1975 

Here  in  this  Cittie  vifiting  the  fick, 
Whereas  the  infedlious  peflilence  remaind  : 
And  being  by  the  Searchers  of  the  Towne 
Found  and  examinde,  we  were  both  fhut  vp. 

Laur:    Who  bare  my  letters  then  to  Romeo  f  1980 

\ohn:    I  haue  them  flill,  and  here  they  are. 

Laur:    Now  by  my  holy  Order, 
The  letters  were  not  nice,  but  of  great  weight. 
Goe  get  thee  hence,  and  get  me  prefently 
A  fpade  and  mattocke.  1985 

John :    Well  I  will  prefently  go  fetch  thee  them.  Exit. 

Laur :    Now  mufl  I  to  the  Monument  alone, 
Lead  that  the  Ladie  fhould  before  I  come. 
Be  wakde  from  fleepe.  I  will  hye 
To  free  her  from  that  Tombe  of  miferie.  Exit.     1990 


Enter  Countie  Paris  and  his  Page  with  flowers 
and  fweete  water. 

Par:    Put  out  the  torch,  and  lye  thee  all  along 
Vnder  this  Ew-tree,  keeping  thine  eare  clofe  to  the  hollow 
ground. 

1970     muft]  mvft     S.  M.  C.  1988.     come.]  come,     S.  M.  C. 


35^  Th^  excellent  Tragedie 

And  if  thou  heare  one  tread  within  this  Churchyard, 
Staight  giue  me  notice.  1995 

Boy :    I  will  my  Lord. 

Paris  Jlrewes  the  Tomb  with  flowers. 

Par:    Sweete  Flower,  with  flowers  I  flrew  thy  Bridale 
bed : 
Sweete  Tombe  that  in  thy  circuite  dofl  containe. 
The  perfedl  modell  of  eternitie :  2000 

Faire  luliet  that  with  Angells  doH.  remaine, 
Accept  this  latefl  fauour  at  my  hands. 
That  liuing  honourd  thee,  and  being  dead 
With  funerall  praifes  doo  adorne  thy  Tombe. 

Boy  whijlles  and  calls.     My  Lord.  2005 

Enter  Romeo  and  Balthafar,  with  a  torch,  a 
a  mattocke,  andacrow  of yron. 

Par-.    The  boy  giues  warning, fomething  doth  approach. 
What  curfed  foote  wanders  this  was  to  night, 
To  (lay  my  obfequies  and  true  loues  rites  ? 
What  with  a  torch,  muffle  me  night  a  while. 

Rom :    Giue  mee  this  mattocke ,  and  this  wrentching  I-     2010 
ron. 
And  take  thefe  letters,  early  in  the  morning, 
See  thou  deliuer  them  to  my  Lord  and  Father. 
So  get  thee  gone  and  trouble  me  no  more. 

Why  I  defcend  into  this  bed  of  death,  2015 

Is  partly  to  behold  my  Ladies  face. 
But  chiefly  to  take  from  her  dead  finger, 
A  precious  ring  which  I  mufl  vfe 
In  deare  imployment .  but  if  thou  wilt  flay. 

Further  to  prie  in  what  I  vndertake,  2020 

By  heauen  He  teare  thee  ioynt  by  ioynt. 
And  flrewe  thys  hungry  churchyard  with  thy  lims, 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  fauage,  wilde. 

Bait :    Well,  He  be  gone  and  not  trouble  you. 

Rom'.    So  fhalt  thou  win  my  fauour,  take  thou  this,  2025 

Commend  me  to  my  Father,  farwell  good  fellow. 

Bait :    Yet  for  all  this  will  I  not  part  from  hence. 
Borneo  opens  the  tombe. 

Kom :    Thou  deteflable  maw,  thou  womb  of  death, 

2005.     a  a  mattocke~\  a  mattocke     S.  M. 
2019.     imployment.]  imployment:     S  M.  C. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  359 

Gorde  with  the  dearefl  morfell  of  the  earth. 

Thus  I  enforce  thy  rotten  iawes  to  ope.  2030 

Par:    This  is  that  baniflit  haughtie  Mountague, 
That  murderd  my  loues  cofen,  I  will  apprehend  him, 
Stop  thy  vnhallowed  toyle  vile  Mountague, 
Can  vengeance  be  purfued  further  then  death  ? 
I  doe  attach  thee  as  a  fellonheere,  2035 

The  Law  condemnes  thee,  therefore  thou  mufl  dye, 

R<?»? :    I  mufl  indeed,  and  therefore  came  I  hither, 
Good  youth  be  gone,  tempt  not  a  defperate  man. 
Heape  not  another  fmne  vpon  my  head 

By  (heding  of  thy  bloud,  I  doe  protefl  2040 

I  loue  thee  better  then  I  loue  my  felfe  : 
For  I  come  hyther  armde  againfl  my  felfe, 

Par'.    I  doe  defie  thy  coniurations : 
And  doe  attach  thee  as  a  fellon  heere. 

'^om'.    What  dofl  thou  tempt  me,  then  haue  at  thee  boy.  2045 

Theyfight. 

Boy.    O  Lord  they  fight,  I  will  goe  call  the  watch. 

Par\    Ah  I  am  flaine,  if  thou  be  merciful! 
Open  the  tombe,  lay  me  with  luliet. 

Kotu :    Yfaith  I  will,  let  me  perufe  this  face, 
Mercutios  kinfman,  noble  County  Paris?  2050 

What  faid  my  man,  when  my  betoffed  foule 
Did  not  regard  him  as  we  pafl  a  long. 
Did  he  not  fay  Paris  fhould  haue  maried 
luliet  ?  eyther  he  faid  fo,  or  I  dreamd  it  fo, 
But  I  will  fatisfie  thy  lad  requeft,  205  s 

For  thou  haft  prizd  thy  loue  aboue  thy  life. 
Death  lye  thou  there,  by  a  dead  man  interd, 
How  oft  haue  many  at  the  houre  of  death 
Beene  blith  and  pleafant?  which  their  keepers  call 
A  lightning  before  death  But  how  may  I  2060 

Call  this  a  lightning.     Ah  deare  luliet, 
How  well  thy  beauty  doth  become  this  graue  ? 
O  I  beleeue  that  vnfubftanciall  death. 
Is  amorous,  and  doth  court  my  loue. 
Therefore  will  I,  O  heere,  O  euer  heere,  2065 

2032,     him,]  him.     S.  M.  C.  2033.     Mountague,]  Mountague.   S.M.C. 

2035.     heere,]  heere.     S.  M.  C.  2054.     fo,]  fo.     S.  M.  C. 

2056.     life,]  life.     S.  M.  C.  2064.     loue,]  loue.     S.  M.  C 


36o  TJie  excellent  Tra^edie 

Set  vp  my  cuerlafling  refl 

With  wormes,  that  are  thychambermayde. 

Come  defperate  Pilot  now  at  once  runne  on 

The  dafliing  rockes  thy  fea-ficke  weary  barge, 

Heers  to  my  loue.  O  true  Apothecary:  2070 

Thy  drugs  are  fwift:  thus  with  a  kifle  I  dye,  Falls. 


Enter  Fryer  with  a  Lanthome. 

How  oft  to  night  haue  thefe  my  aged  feete 
Stumbled  at  graues  as  I  did  paffe  along. 
Whofe  there? 

Man.    A  frend  and  one  that  knowes  you  well.  2075 

Fr:    Who  is  it  that  conforts  fo  late  the  dead, 
What  light  is  yon?  if  I  be  not  deceiued, 
Me  thinkes  it  burnes  in  Capels  monument/ 

Man    It  doth  fo  holy  Sir,  and  there  is  one 
That  loues  you  dearely.  2080 

Fr.    Who  is  it? 

Man :    Romeo. 

¥r:    How  long  hath  he  beene  there? 

Man:    Full  halfe  an  houre  and  more. 

Fr.'    Goe  with  me  thether.  2085 

Man:    I  dare  not  fir,  he  knowes  not  I  am  heere: 
On  paine  of  death  he  chargde  me  to  be  gone, 
And  not  for  to  diflurbe  him  in  his  enterprize. 

Fr;    Then  mud  I  goe:  my  minde  prefageth  ill. 

Yryer /loops  and  lookes  on  the  blood  and  weapons. 

What  bloud  is  this  that  flaines  the  entrance  2090 

Of  this  marble  (lony  monument? 
What  meanes  thefe  maiflerles  and  goory  weapons? 
Ah  me  I  doubt,  whofe  heere?  what  Borneo  dead? 
Who  and  Paris  too?  what  vnluckie  houre 

Is  acceffary  to  fo  foule  a  fmne?  209^ 

Juliet  ri/es. 

The  Lady  flurres. 

2067.     chambermayde]  chambermayds     S.  M.  C. 
2069.     barge,]  barge.     S.  M.  C. 
2o8o.     dearely]  dearly     S.  M.  C. 


of  Kotneo  and  Juliet.  3^^ 

Ah  comfortable  Fryer, 

I  doe  remember  well  where  I  (hould  be, 

And  what  we  talkt  of:  but  yet  I  cannot  fee 

Him  for  whofe  fake  I  vndertooke  this  hazard.  2100 

Fr:    Lady  come  foorth,  I  heare  fome  noife  at  hand, 
We  fhall  be  taken.  Farts  he  is  flaine, 
And  Romeo  dead  :  and  if  we  heere  be  tane 
We  fhall  be  thought  to  be  as  acceffarie, 
I  will  prouide  for  you  in  fome  clofe  Nunery.  2105 

\ul\    Ah  leaue  me,  ieaue  me,  I  will  not  from  hence. 

Fr\    I  heare  fome  noife,  I  dare  not  flay,  come,  come, 

\ul\    Goe  get  thee  gone. 
Whats  heere  a  cup  clofde  in  my  louers  hands? 
Ah  ch  irle  drinke  all,  and  leaue  no  drop  for  me.  21 10 

Enter  watch. 

Watch :    This  way,  this  way. 

lul :    I,  noife?  then  mufl  I  be  refolute, 
O  happy  dagger  thou  (halt  end  my  feare, 
Refl  in  my  bofome,  thus  I  come  to  thee. 

She  Jlabs  herfelfe  and  falles. 


Enter    watch. 

Cap:    Come  looke  about,  what  weapons  haue  we  heere/  2115 
See  frends  where  luliet  two  daies  buried, 
New  bleeding  wounded,  fearch  and  fee  who's  neare. 
Attach  and  bring  them  to  vs  prefently. 

Enter  one  with  the  Yryer. 
I .    Captaine  heers  a  Fryer  with  tooles  about  him, 
Fitte  to  ope  a  tombe.  aiao 

Cap :    A  great  fufpition,  keep  him  fafe. 

Enter  one  with  Romets  man. 
I.    Heeres  Romeos  Man. 
Capt :    Keepe  him  to  be  examinde. 

2097.     S.  and  M.  insert  Jul:  from  the  catchword  of  the  previous  page. 
2097.     Fryer,]  Fryer.     S.  M.  C. 
2104     acceffarie,]  acceffarie.     S.  M.  C. 
2107.     come,  come,]  come,  come     S.  M.     come,  come.     C. 
2112.     refolu'e,]  refolute.     S.  M.  C.  2121.     ^ow/Zi]  Romeos     S. 

31 


/ 


36-  Tke  exceUent  Tr age  die 

EniiT  Prince  mufil  tikers. 

Frin :    What  eaxly  mifchiefe  calls  ts  vp  lb  ibooe. 

Capt :    O  noble  Prince,  fee  here  3125 

Where  j^iiet  that  hath  lyen  intoombd  twt)  dayes, 
Wanne  and  frelh  bleeding,  Romu^  and  Coantie  Faris 

Likewife  newly  llaine. 

Frin :    Search  feeke  about  to  finde  the  murderers, 

Z-.s:-  .    -  Caf0let  4utd  Us  W^. 

Ctf0:    What  rumor's  this  that  is  fo  early  vp?  2x3c 

M§A :    The  people  in  the  (Ireetes  crie  Fameo, 

And  fome  on  /«/?>/ .-  as  if  they  alone 

Had  been  the  caufe  of  fuch  a  mutinie. 

Cap«:    See  Wife,  this  dagger  hath  millooke: 

For  (loe)  the  backe  is  emptie  of  yong  Mtmmiagmt,  213^ 

And  it  is  (heathed  in  our  Danghters  breafL 

Enter  olde  Montague, 

Frin :    Come  MimMU^e,  for  thou  art  early  vp. 

To  fee  thy  Sonne  and  Heire  more  early  downe- 

Mammt .-  Dread  Sooereigne,  my  Wife  is  deaui  to  ni^it^ 
And  yong  BcnuoUo  is  deceafed  too :  2 1 4« 

What  further  mifchiefe  can  there  yet  be  found? 

Frin :    Firtl  come  and  fee,  then  fpeake. 

yfouni :    O  thou  vntaught,  what  manners  is  in  tiiis 
To  prelfe  before  thy  Father  to  a  graoe. 

Frin :    Come  feale  your  mouthes  of  outrage  for  a  while,    2 1 45 
And  let  vs  feeke  to  finde  the  Authors  out 
Of  fuch  a  hainoos  and  feld  feene  mifchaunce. 
Bring  forth  the  parties  in  fufpition. 

Fr:    I  am  the  greateft  able  to  doo  leafl. 
Moil  worthie  Prince,  heare  me  but  fpeake  the  truth.  2159 

And  Re  informe  you  how  thefe  things  fell  oat. 
Juliet  here  flaine  was  mairied  to  that  Romeot 
Without  her  Fathers  or  her  Mothers  grant : 
The  Nurfe  was  priuie  to  the  mairiag^ 

The  balefull  day  of  this  vnhappie  marriage,  j  1 5  5 

V\''as  Tybalts  doomdday :  for  which  Rjmc» 
Was  banithed  from  hence  to  Mambuu 
He  gone,  her  Fa±er  fought  by  foole  confliaint 
To  marrie  her  to  Faris :  But  her  Scale 

1 14S.     fuipitioa]  fit^-inn     5.  M. 


of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  3^3 

(Loathing  a  fecond  Contra6l)  did  refufe  2160 

To  giue  confent ;  and  therefore  did  fhe  vrge  me 

Either  to  finde  a  meanes  fhe  might  auoyd 

What  fo  her  Father  fought  to  force  her  too : 

Orelsall  defperately  ftie  threatned 

Euen  in  my  prefence  to  difpatch  her  felfe.  2165 

Then  did  I  giue  her,  (tutord  by  mine  arte) 

A  potion  that  fhould  make  her  feeme  as  dead : 

And  told  her  that  I  would  with  all  pofl  fpeed 

Send  hence  to  Mantua  for  her  'R.omeo, 

That  he  might  come  and  take  her  from  the  Toombe.  2170 

But  he  that  had  my  Letters  (Frier  yohn) 

Seeking  a  Brother  to  aflbciate  him, 

Whereas  the  ficke  infedtion  remaind, 

Was  Hayed  by  the  Searchers  of  the  Towne, 

But  "Sufmeo  vnderllanding  by  his  man,  2175 

That  Juliet  was  deceafde,  returnde  in  pofl 

Vnto  Verona  for  to  fee  his  loue. 

What  after  happened  touching  Paris  death, 

Or  'Komeos  is  to  me  vnknowne  at  all. 

But  when  I  came  to  take  the  Lady  hence,  2180 

I  found  them  dead,  and  fhe  awakt  from  fleep: 

Whom  faine  I  would  haue  taken  from  the  tombe. 

Which  fhe  refufed  feeing  'Borneo  dead. 

Anone  I  heard  the  watch  and  then  I  fled, 

What  afterhappened  I  am  ignorant  of.  2185 

And  if  in  this  ought  haue  mifcaried. 

By  me,  or  by  my  meane  s  let  my  old  life 

Be  facrified  fome  houre  before  his  time. 

To  the  mofl  flrickefl  rigor  of  the  Law. 

Pry:    We  flill  haue  knowne  thee  for  a  holy  man,  2190 

Wheres  Komeos  man,  what  can  he  fay  in  this  / 

Balth:    I  brought  my  maifler  word  that  fhee  was  dead, 
And  then  he  poafled  flraight  from  Mantua, 
Vnto  this  Toombe.     Thefe  Letters  he  deliuered  me, 
Charging  me  early  giue  them  to  his  Father.  2195 

Prin :    Lets  fee  the  Letters,  I  will  read  them  ouer. 
Where  is  the  Counties  Boy  that  calld  the  Watch  / 

Boy :    I  brought  my  Mafler  vnto  Juliets  graue, 
But  one  approaching,  flraight  I  calld  my  Mafler. 
At  lafl  they  fought,  I  ran  to  call  the  Watch.  2200 

2187.    old]  olde    S.  M.  2188.    facrified]  (aerified    S.  M.  C, 


3^4  The  excellent  Tragedie. 

And  this  is  all  that  I  can  fay  or  know. 

Prin :    Thefe  letters  doe  make  good  the  Fryers  wordes, 
Come  Capolet,  and  come  olde  Mountagewe. 
Where  are  thefe  enemies?  fee  what  hate  hath  done, 

Cap:    Come  brother  i?/(7««/'fl^^?/(f  giue  me  thy  hand,  2205 

There  is  my  daughters  dowry :  for  now  no  more 
Can  I  beftowe  on  her,  thats  all  I  haue. 

Moun:    But  I  will  giue  them  more,  I  will  ere<5t 
Her  (latue  of  pure  golde : 

That  while  Verona  by  that  name  is  knowne,  2210 

There  Ihall  no  flatue  of  fuch  price  be  fet, 
As  that  of  'R.omeos  loued  luliet. 

Cap :    As  rich  Ihall  Romeo  by  his  Lady  lie, 
Poore  Sacrifices  to  our  Enmitie. 

Fn'n:    A  gloomie  peace  this  day  doth  with  it  bring.         2215 
Come,  let  vs  hence, 
To  haue  more  talke  of  thefe  fad  things. 
Some  (hall  be  pardoned  and  fome  puni(he<i: 
For  nere  was  heard  a  Storie  of  more  woe, 
Than  this  of  /u/ief  and  her  Romeo.  3220 


FINIS. 


2202.     doe]  doo     S.  M. 

[Prof.  Mommsen's  Reprint  of  the  Second  Quarto,  the  lines  of  which  are  numbered 
•n  the  same  principle  as  the  above,  shows  that  the  Second  Quarto  exceeds  the  Hnl 
by  seven  hundred  and  seventy  three  lines.   Ed.] 


V 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 


'That  runaway' s  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo — ^III,  ii,  6,  p.  i66. 

Warburton  (1747).  Macbeth  (III,  ii,  46)  invokes  night  much  in  the  same 
strain :  •  Come,  seeling  night,  Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day^  &c.  So  Juliet 
would  have  night's  darkness  obscure  the  great  eye  of  the  day — the  sun — whom  con- 
sidering as  Phoebus,  drawn  in  his  car  with  fiery-footed  steeds,  she  very  properly  calls, 
with  regard  to  the  swiftness  of  his  course,  the  runaway.  In  like  manner  Sh.  speaks 
of  the  night  in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.  (II,  vi,  47)  :  '  For  the  close  night  doth  play  the 
run-away.^     [Theobald,  Johnson, 

Johnson  (1765).  I  am  not  satisfied  with  this  emendation,  yet  have  nothing  better 
to  propose. 

Heath  {* Revisal  of  Sh: s  Text,'  1765,  p.  512).  By  the  run-away  Warburton  un- 
derstands the  sim  himself.  But  besides  that  the  sun  had  been  already  sufficiently 
invoked,  and  is  absent  as  soon  as  night  comes ;  besides  that  the  runaway  is  at  any 
time  a  very  strange  and  quaint  appellation  for  the  sun,  it  is  singularly  improper  in 
this  passage.  Juliet  had  just  before  complained  of  the  sun's  tedious  slowness  in 
finishing  his  course,  and  therefore  it  is  very  unlikely  she  should  in  the  same  breath 
call  him  a  run-away.  I  think  it  not  improbable  that  the  poet  wrote  '  That  Rumour's 
eyes  may  wink,'  &c. 

Steevens  (1773).  Yet  Sh.,  who  has  introduced  this  personage  (Rumour)  by  way 
of  Prologue-speaker  to  one  of  his  historical  plays,  has  only  described  her  as  painted 
full  of  tongues. 

Steevens  (1778).  The  construction  of  this  passage,  however  elliptical  or  per- 
verse, I  believe  to  be  as  follows :  •  May  that  run-away's  eyes  wink !'  or  '  That  run- 
away's eyes,  may  (they)  wink !'  These  ellipses  are  common  in  Spenser :  and  thai 
for  oh  I  that,  is  not  uncommon,  as  Dr.  Farmer  observes  in  a  note  on  the  first  scene 
of  Winter's  Tale.  So  in  Ant.  and  Cleop.  Ill,  vi,  40.  Juliet  first  wishes  for  the 
absence  of  the  sun,  and  then  invokes  the  night  to  spread  its  curtain  close  around  the 
world.  Next  recollecting  that  the  night  would  seem  short  to  her,  she  speaks  of  it 
as  of  a  run-away  whose  flight  she  would  wish  to  retard,  and  whose  eyes  she  would 
blind  lest  they  should  make  discoveries.  The  eyes  of  night  are  the  stars  so  called 
in  Mid  Sum.  N.  D.  In  the  Fair  Maid  of  the  Exchange,  1607,  night  is  spoken  of  as 
in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.    *  The  night  hath  played  the  swift-foot  run-away.'     Romeo  was 

367 


368  APPENDIX. 

not  expected  by  Juliet  till  the  sun  was  gone,  and  therefore  it  was  of  no  consequence 
to  her  that  any  eyes  should  wink  but  those  of  night ;   for,  as  Ben  Jonson  says  io 

Seianus,  ' night  hath  many  eyes,  Whereof,  though  most  do  sleep,  yet  some  are 

spies.' 

Blackstone  (in  Johns,  and  Steev.  ed.  1785).  That  seems  not  to  be  the  optative 
adverb  uiinam,  but  the  pronoun  ista.  These  lines  contain  no  wish,  but  a  reason  for 
Juliet's  preceding  wish  for  the  approach  of  cloudy  night ;  for  in  such  a  night  there 
may  be  n  j  starlight  to  discover  our  stolen  pleasures :  '  That  run-away  eyes  may 
wink.' 

Monk  Mason  {'Commmis,'  Sec.  1785,  p.  367).  The  omission  of  the  article  proves 
that  the  word,  whatever  the  meaning  of  it  may  be,  was  intended  for  a  proper  name. 
Though  I  am  not  so  fond  as  Warburton  of  making  Sh.  speak  French,  I  believe  that 
here  he  uses  a  French  word  with  an  English  termination,  and  have  little  doubt  that 
we  ought  to  read  *  that  Renomy's  eyes,'  &c.  Renommie  is  the  French  word  for 
Rumour,  and  is  thus  described  by  Boileau  in  his  Lutrin : 

'Cependant  cet  oiseau  qui  prone  les  merveilles, 
Ce  monstre  compost  de  bouches  et  d'oreilles, 
Qui  sans  cesse  volant  de  climats  en  cliraats 
Dit  partout  ce  qu'il  scait,  et  ce  qu'il  ne  scait  pas. 
La  Renommie  enfin,'  &c 

The  words  untalk'd  0/  and  unseen  confirm  this  conjecture. 

Rann  (1786).    That  no  bright  star  may  discover  our  stolen  pleasures. 

Seymour  (^Remarks'  &c.  1805,  vol.  ii,  p.  406).  Romeo  I  take  to  be  the  run- 
away, i.  e.,  the  person  that  is  to  come  and  run  away  with  Juliet,  and  she  would  have 
him  post  to  her  on  the  wings  of  love  with  such  celerity  as  to  be  blind  to  every  obsta- 
cle and  invisible  to  every  eye ;  that  Romeo  is  he  whose  eyes  are  to  wink,  and  is, 
of  consequence,  the  runaway,  seems  partly  implied  in  what  follows :  '  if  love  bt 
blind,'  &c. 

Capel  Lofft  [cited  in  Seymour's  *  Remarks'"].  Is  it  not  possible  that  Fame  or 
Rumour,  with  all  its  vigilant  eyes,  may  be  intended  ? 

Douce  (* Illustrations  '  &c.  1807).  \VTioever  attentively  reads  over  Juliet's  speech 
will  be  inclined  to  think,  or  even  be  satisfied,  that  the  whole  tenor  of  it  is  optative. 
As  to  calling  night  a  run-away,  one  might  surely  ask  how  it  can  possibly  be  so 
termed  in  an  abstract  point  of  view.  Is  it  a  greater  fugitive  than  the  morning,  the 
noon,  or  the  evening?  Steevens  lays  great  stress  on  Sh.'s  having  before  called  the 
night  a  run-away  in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.  But  there  it  was  already  far  advanced,  and 
might  therefore  with  great  propriety  be  said  to  play  the  run- away  ;  here  it  was  not 
begun.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the  other  passage  cited  by  Steevens  from  The 
Fair  Maid  of  the  Exchange.  Can  this  run-away  be  Juliet  herself?  She  who  had 
just  been  secretly  married  to  the  enemy  of  her  parents  might,  with  some  propriety, 
be  termed  a  runaway  from  her  duty ;  but  she  had  not  abandoned  her  native  pu- 
dency. She  therefore  invokes  the  night  to  veil  those  rites  which  she  was  about  to 
perform,  and  to  bring  her  Romeo  to  her  arms  in  darkness  and  in  silence.  The  lines 
that  immediately  follow  may  be  thought  to  favour  this  interpretation ;  and  the  whole 
scene  may  possibly  recall  to  the  reader  the  beautiful  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche. 

Becket  {^Sh.  Himself  a  gain  ^  1815,  p.  214).  I  would  read  'That  runagate's 
eyes,'  &c.,  which  must  be  understood  as  follows :  '  let  the  eyes  of  runagates,  rebels, 
or  love-apostates  be  shut,  so  that  there  may  be  no  opposition,  no  hindrance  to  the 
completion  of  my  wishes.'     It  will  be  admitted,  I  think,  that  change  is  necessary — 


Jil/A'AlVAy'S   EVES.  369 

that  something,  in  short,  should  be  substituted  for  '  runaway ;'  and  it  may  be  farther 
acknowledged,  perhaps,  that  I  have  fallen  on  the  proper  term. 

Zachary  Jackson  {'SA.'s  Genius  yustified^  p.  421,  1819).  According  to  the 
orthography  of  vSh.'s  time,  the  transposition  of  a  single  letter  gives  the  original 
word,  and  produces  so  clear  a  meaning  that  neither  the  Greek  of  Judge  Blackstone 
nor  the  laboured  elucidations  of  the  other  commentators  are  necessary.  Our  great 
Poet  wrote,  '  That  unawares  eyes  may  wink,'  &c.  Juliet  invokes  night  to  mantle 
the  world  in  darkness,  that  by  a  heavy  atmosphere  sleep  may  steal  unawares  upon 
the  eyelids  of  those  \/ho  would  obstruct  her  pleasures.  WTiat  can  possibly  be  more 
simple  ?  Now  see  how  the  error  originated.  The  old  mode  of  spelling  unawaret 
was  unawayrs :  the  word  had  what  printers  term  a  literal  error ;  that  is,  such  as  an 
0  for  an  r;  in  the  correcting  of  which,  having  taken  out  the  0,  the  compositor 
placed  the  r  at  the  beginning  of  the  word,  and  thus  turned  unawayrs  to  runaways. 

Knight  (1838,  ed,  l).  This  passage  has  been  a  perpetual  source  of  contention 
to  the  commentators.  .  .  .  After  all  this  learning  there  comes  an  unlearned  com- 
positor, Zachary  Jackson,  and  sets  the  matter  straight.  Run-aways  is  a  misprint  foi 
unawares.  We  have  not  the  least  hesitation  in  adopting  Jackson's  reading ;  and 
we  have  the  authority  of  a  very  clever  article  in  Blackwood's  Magazine  (July,  1819) 
for  a  general  testimony  to  the  value  of  Jackson's  book,  and  the  equally  valuable 
authority  of  a  most  accomplished  friend,  who  called  our  attention  to  this  particular 
reading  as  settled  by  the  common  sense  of  the  printer. 

Cornwall.  The  most  probable  solution  is  that  which  supposes  Sh.  to  have  meant 
by  '  runaway'  the  night,  and  by  its  eyes  the  stars.  Zachary  Jackson's  alteration  gives 
a  prosaic  flatness  to  the  phrase,  which,  to  say  nothing  of  other  objections,  alone  con- 
vinces us  that  it  is  not  the  true  reading. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  Zachary  Jackson  has  shown  that  run-aways  was  in  all  proba- 
bility a  misprint  for  '  unawares.' 

Dyce  [^Remarks,'  Sac,  1844].  I  cannot  allow  that  the  reading  in  this  passage  has 
been  '  settled'  by  Jackson  (about  the  value  of  whose  book  I  think  very  differently 
from  Knight  and  the  writer  in  Blackwood).  I  do  not  believe  that  Sh.  would  have 
used  such  an  expression  as  •  that  unawares  eyes  may  wink.'  That  '  ways'  (the  last 
syllable  of  'run-aways')  ought  to  be  'Days'  I  feel  next  to  certain;  but  what  word 
originally  preceded  it  I  do  not  pretend  to  determine : 

That        '^.'1  Day's  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo — 

Compare  Macbeth,  III,  ii,  46.     The  passages  in  our  early  poets  about  Night  spread 
ing  her  curtains,  and  Day  closing  her  eyes,  are  numerous.     So  in  Drajrton : 

'  The  sullen  Night  hath  her  black  Curiaines  spred; 
Lowring  the  Day  hath  tarried  vp  so  long, 
ly hose  /aire  eyes  closing  softly  steales  to  bed,'  &c 

Barons  H^arres,  o.  iii,  st  17,  ed.  8va 

(This  Stanza  is  very  different  in  the  folio  ed.)     [Mr.  Lettsom's  MS.  margina  note, 
'  My  ed.,  1605,  is  the  same  as  this.'  Ed.] 

MlTFORD  (in  the  Gent.  Mag.,  June  1845,  P-  S^o).  It  strikes  us  as  rather  singular 
that  not  one  out  of  the  whole  body  of  the  commentators  has  hit  on  the  real  mean- 
ing, or  seen  how  the  corruption  of  the  text  was  created.  The  right  reading  we  take 
to  be  '  That  Luna's  eye,'  &c.  ^\^len  the  L  of  Luna  was  changed  into  R  and  made 
'R-una;  then  the  sense  was  entirely  lost,  and,  to  give  at  least  some  meaning  to  the 
wol  d,  it  was  made  'Run-away.'     The  corruption  stood  thus : 

Y 


370  APPENDIX. 

That  Luna's  eye.  That  Runa's  eye.  That  Runaway's  eye. 
Almost  all  Latin  or  foreign  words  are  corrupted  in  the  old  eds.,  and  there  was  no 
learning  in  the  printers  to  set  them  right.  We  have  the  same  expression  in  Pericles, 
II,  V,  II  :  '  This  by  the  tye  of  Cynthia  hath  she  vowed.'  We  trust  that  this  emen- 
dation will  at  once  approve  itself  to  the  understanding  of  all  our  readers,  except  of 
those  who,  having  positively  engaged  themselves  to  stand  by  a  particular  reading, 
will  be  reluctant  to  confess  their  error ;  and  that  it  may  supersede  at  once  those 
former  readings  which  have  arisen  from  t)'pographical  blunders,  and  with  which  the 
commentators  themselves  have  been  obliged  to  acknowledge  their  dissatisfaction. 

Rev.  N.  J.  Halpin  {'The  Bridal  Runaway^  Sh.  Soc.  Papers,  vol.  ii,  p.  14, 
1845).  The  source  of  the  obscurity  in  these  words  which  misleads  us  is  that  the 
commentators  have  not  sought  the  meaning  of  the  terms  and  figures  of  the  passage 
in  the  peculiar  species  of  poetry  to  which  it  belongs.  They  have,  in  fact,  failed  to 
observe  that  the  character  and  language  of  this  soliloquy  are  purely  Hymeneal. 
Now,  as  every  distinct  class  of  poetry,  whether  the  Anacreontic,  the  Pindaric,  the 
pastoral,  or  the  elegy,  has  each  not  only  a  subject  and  a  mythology  sui  generis,  but 
a  suit  of  imagery  and  diction  appropriate  to  itself,  in  which  particular  words  and 
figures  bear  a  meaning  modified  and  restricted  by  the  nature  of  the  composition :  in 
the  same  manner  and  degree  is  h)mieneal,  or  epithalamic,  poetry  distinguished  from 
every  other  species  by  its  own  range  of  sentiments  and  its  conventional  phraseology. 

There  will  be  no  difficulty,  I  suppose,  in  conceding  this ;  nor  should  I  shrink  from 
the  task  of  sustaining,  by  the  usual  method  of  demonstration,*  my  view  of  the  par- 
ticular class  to  which  this  soliloquy  belongs  were  the  subject  other  than  it  is,  or  had 
we  to  deal  with  the  literature  of  a  period  more  refined  and  delicate.  There  is  not 
a  line  in  it  which  it  would  not  be  easy  to  parallel  with  others  harmonizing  with  it 
altogether  in  sentiment,  and,  to  a  very  great  extent,  in  imagery  and  diction,  f 
extracted  from  the  hymeneal  poetry  of  contemporary  writers.  .  .  .  This  premised,  I 
proceed  with  my  task. 

The  first  thing  remarkable  on  the  surface  of  the  soliloquy  is  the  frequent  and 
varied  invocation  of  Night.  For  brevity  sake  I  forbear  to  illustrate  with  correspond- 
ing quotations  from  the  contemporary  poets  the  peculiar  imagery  so  lavishly  bestowed 
on  this  mythological  personage.  But  a  reference  to  the  class  of  poems  in  question 
will,  in  this  respect  also,  furnish  abundant  evidence  that  in  the  composition  of  this 
piece  the  mind  of  Sh.  was  saturated  with  the  images  of  hymeneal  poetry,  which  he 
has  here  accumulated  not  without  design, 

I  must  also  observe  that  the  structure,  no  less  than  the  spirit,  of  the  soliloquy  is 
distinctly  hymeneal.  '  This  poem,'  quoth  Ben  Jonson,  speaking  of  the  Epithala- 
mion, '  had  for  the  most  part  versum  inter calarem,  or  carmen  amoeb(Bum  ;  and  that 
not  always  one  but  ofttimes  varied,  and  sometimes  neglected  in  the  same  song.'  \ 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  custom  of  the  epithalamic  poets  to  close  every  stanza,  or  division, 
w'th  a  refrein,  which,  running  on  some  leading  image,  or  some  harmonious  combi- 

•  Namely,  by  the  collation  of  parallel  passages,  words,  phrases,  and  sentiments,  of  which  process  one 
or  two  examples  may  suffice.  [Extracts  are  here  given  from  Spenser's  'Efiiihalamion  on  his  (nun 
tnarriage.'  Jonson's  'Epithal.  on  marriage  of  Hierotne  Weston^  &c  Doctor  Donne's  'EpUhaL 
tHode  at  Lincoln  t  Inn.'  George  Wither's  'Epithal.  on  the  marriage  of  Princess  Elizabeth.'  Jon- 
ton's  ' Hyntenai'  and  ' Epithalamion  Teratos,  v.  Sesi.  of  Hero  and  Leander,'  by  Marlow  and 
Chapman.] 

t  It  is  not  pretended  that  all  the  notions  and  imagery  of  which  the  Nuptial  song  is  suscep*able  an 
•mbodied  in  Juliet's  soliloquy,  but  that  ttenr  other  than  what  are  common  to  it  with  that  stedes  ol 
90«tTy  in  genf  al  are  to  be  foun  \  there.  X  HymenzL 


RUN  A  WA  Y'S  E  YES.  3  7 1 

nation  of  words,  was,  will  more  or  less  variation,  repeated,  sometimes  at  fixed,  and 
sometimes  at  irregular,  intervals  of  the  main  song.  The  re/rein  of  Spenser's  Pro- 
thalamion  turns  upon  '  the  Thames ;'  of  his  Epithalamion,  on  •  the  echoing  woods,' 
&c.,  &c. 

Juliet's  soliloquy  is  constructed  on  the  same  intercalary  principle.  Four  several 
invocations  to  Night  [lines  5,  10,  17,  20],  more  or  less  varied,  occur  at  intervals 
more  or  less  regular,  and  realize  Jonson's  description  of  the  structure  of  this  species 
of  poem.  In  short,  as  it  appears  to  me,  this  soliloquy  dififers  in  nothing  from  the 
legitimate  epithalamion  but  as  blank  verse  differs  from  the  rhymed  stanza. 

It  is  now  time  that  we  advert  to  the  passage  in  which  the  '  run-away'  makes  his 
appearance. 

In  the  mythology  of  the  nuptial  poem  it  might  be  expected  that  Cupid  would  play 
no  unimportant  rdle.  And  here  one  might  make  a  cheap  parade  of  erudition  at  no 
more  cost  of  study  than  turning  to  the  authorities  quoted  by  Ben  Jonson ;  but  I  shall 
rest  content  with  the  authority  of  the  great  hierophant  himself.  From  him  we  find 
the  part  of  Cupid  on  those  occasions  to  have  been  peculiar  and  restricted.  Hymen 
had,  of  course,  a  more  distinguished  office ;  nor  did  he  resign  his  ministry  till,  at 
the  door  of  the  bridal  chamber,  he  surrendered  it  to  his  brother.  Up  to  this  point 
Cupid,  by  concealment  or  flight,  usually  contrived  to  be  absent ;  but  there  it  was  his 
duty  (accompanied  by  a  crowd  of  Loves  and  Sports)  to  receive  the  married  couple. 
Tims  in  the  Hue  and  Cry,  when  about  to  elope  for  the  second  time,  he  whispers  his 

light-winged  brethren : 

'  I  may  not  stay ; 
Hymen's  presence  bids  away, 
'Tis  already  at  his  sight ; 
He  can  give  you  further  light. 
You,  my  Sports,  may  here  abide, 
•  Till  I  call  to  light  the  bride.' 

It  was  his  part  to  illuminate  the  bride-chamber,  and  his  lights  were  generally  his 
own  eyes  and  those  of  his  sportive  co-mates,  kindled  at  the  brilliancy  of  the  bride's : 

'  See,  a  thousand  Cupids  fly 
To  light  their  tapers  at  the  bride's  bright  eye.'* 

We  must  not  forget,  however,  that  if  Love  sometimes  has  eyes,  he  is  also  some- 
times blind ;  or  rather,  that  there  were  two  Cupids,  one  keen-sighted  and  fiery-eyed, 
as  Moschus  describes  him,  bmiara  S'  avrif)  Spifivla  Kai  (p^ydevra ;  the  other,  as  de- 
scribed by  Ben  Jonson,  cacum  cupidine.  In  this  state  of  things  it  is  natural  the 
vulgar  opinion  should  be  very  unsettled ;  and  it  remains  to  this  day  a  moot  point 
whether  Love  have  eyes  or  not.  f  In  those  doubts  Juliet  evidently  shared  when, 
putting  a  suppositious  case,  she  said :  '  Or,  if  Love  be  blind,'  &c.  Now  this  form 
of  expression  obviously  implies  that  she  had  already  considered  '  Love'  in  the  cor- 
relative condition,  and  regarded  him  as  able  to  see.  But  where  is  this  to  be  found  in 
the  context  ?     We  find  her,  indeed,  wishing  that  the  '  eyes'  of  somebody,  whom  she 


•  Robert  Herrick's  Epithal.  on  marriage  of  Sir  Qipsebie  Crew.    This  conceit,  for  all  \\m  air  «rf 
modem  gallantry,  is  borrowed  firom  the  ancients : 

'  Illius  ex  oculis,  cum  vult  exurere  divas, 
Accendit  geminas  lampadas  acer  Amor.' — TibuUut. 

t  Valentine.     Why,  lady,  Love  hath  twenty  pair  of  eyes. 
T^rio.        They  say  that  Love  hath  not  an  eye  at  all.— 

Two  Gent,  of  Verena,  II,  it,  95- 


37*  APPEADIX. 

calls  'run-away,'  may  'wink'  in  order  that  Romeo's  visit  may  be  '  untalked-of  and 
unseen.'  \Vho  is  this?  In  the  hymeneal  system,  none  could  be  present  with  the 
'  lovers'  in  the  bridal  chamber  except  Cupid,  by  whose  eyes  it  was  supposed  to  be 
illuminated.  But  Juliet  does  not  want  their  light ;  partly,  because  •  Lovers  can  see 
by  their  own  beauties,'  but  chiefly,  that  the  interview  may  be  '  untalked-of  and 
unseen.' 

Is  C'JPiD,  then,  the  '  runaway,'  the  Love  (in  the  correlative)  which  has  eyes  and 
can  see  ?  So  far,  it  is,  at  least,  very  probable.  The  sobriquet,  by  which  I  suppose  him 
here  designated,  is  founded  on  his  mythical  character,  and  was  familiar,  in  one  form 
or  another,  to  the  Greek  poets,  who  endued  him  with  properties,  and  to  the  English, 
as  well  as  the  Latin,  who  adopted  their  inventions.  The  characteristic  alluded  to,  is 
his  notorious  propensity  to  running  away  from  his  mother.  To  this  notion  are  to 
be  referred  the  numberless  medallions,  pictures,  and  stories  in  which  he  is  represented 
as  captured,  imprisoned,  caged,  fettered,  and  with  his  wings  bound,  crossed  behind 
his  back,  or  clipped  with  scissors,  to  prevent  his  escape.  In  reference  to  this  trait, 
he  is  called  by  the  Greeks  Spanerf)^;  dpairETiSag;  by  the  Latins,  fugitivus,  profugus, 
vagus ;  by  the  English,  truant,  deserter,  wanderer,  vagrant,  vagabond,  runagate,  and 
why  not,  runaway,  the  exact  translation  of  the  Greek  epithets  ?  ♦  Small  Latin  and 
less  Greek'  had  surely  sufficed  for  the  construction,  if  copied,  or  the  coincidence,  if 
original,  of  a  title  so  obvious  and  appropriate.  The  characteristic  was  familiar  and 
popular  in  the  classico-romantic  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  furnishes  the  ma- 
chinery of  two  of  Lylie's  court  comedies,  and  in  both  the  etymology  of  the  English 
synonym  is  distinctly  suggested.  '  Whilst  I  truant  from  my  mother,'  quoth  Cupid, 
'  I  will  use  some  tyranny  in  these  woods,  and  so  shall  their  exercise  in  foolish  love 
be  my  excuse  for  running  awayj"  *  '  As  for  you.  Sir  Boy,'  exclaims  Venus,  '  I  will 
teach  you  to  run  away.  You  shall  be  stripped  from  top  to  toe,  and  whipped  with 
nettles,  not  roses.' f  We  lay  no  stress,  however,  on  those  suggestive  phrases;  nor 
need  we,  for  the  word  itself,  in  its  compound  form,  is  used  as  a  synonym  for  Cupid 
by  Thomas  Heywood,  in  that  scene  of  his  Mask  of  Love's  Mistress,  where  Venus, 
aided  by  Pan,  discovers  the  fugitive  in  Vulcan's  smithy : 

'PaH.        This  way  he  ran  with  shackles  on  his  heels, 
And  said  he  would  to  Vulcan.     O,  but  see 
Where  he  stands  cogging  with  him. 
yenus.     Now,  you  Runatvay  I  % 

You  disobedient — thou  unhappy  wag — 

Where  be  the  golden  fetters  I  left  you  bound  in  ?'  J 

I  am  bound,  however,  to  show,  not  merely  the  use  of  the  particular  word  in  English 
poetry  as  a  synonym  for  Cupid,  but  its  use  as  such  in  poetry  professedly  hymeneal. 
Let  us,  then,  turn  again  to  the  Hue  and  Cry  of  Ben  Jonson ;  and  there,  in  an  ode 
poorly  paraphrased  from  the  'E/)wf  Apaner^^  of  Moschus,  we  shall  find  the  very  term 
applied  in  the  very  sense  required.  Cupid  had,  as  usual,  on  the  approach  of  the 
nuptials,  absconded.  Distressed  at  his  absence,  Venus  commissions  the  Graces  to 
'  proclaim  reward  to  her  that  brings  him  in ;'  whereupon  the  first  Grace,  addressing 
the  ladies  of  the  Court,  exclaims  : 

'  Beauties,  have  you  seen  this  toy 
Called  Love — a  little  boy, 

*  Gallathea,  ii,  a.  t  Sappho  ati  Phao,  t,  a. 

I  And  again,  'VuL-an.    But  soft  !  what  shackled  Runavxiy  is  this?' 
{  Love's  Mistress,  iv,  2. 


fiUNAlVAV'S   EVES.  373 

Almost  naked,  wanton,  blind. 
Cruel  now,  and  now  as  kind. 
If  he  be  amongst  ye,  say  : 
He  is  Venus'  Runaway.'  * 

I  believe  that  tliere  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  Run-away  is  the  '  Run-away'  of  Juliet's 
•oliloquy.  Their  part  in  the  hymeneal  ceremony  is  the  same ;  they  are  both  /?uh- 
aways ;  both  are  to  be  found  at  the  proper  time  in  the  bride-chamber;  and  the  office 
of  both  is  to  give  light  in  the  room.  If  Sh.'s  Run-away  have  eyes,  so  has  the 
original  of  Moschus ;  and  if  Jonson's  be  blind,  it  is  doubtful  whether  Sh.'s  is  not  in 
the  same  predicament. 

But  how,  if  the  •  winking  Cupid'  were,  in  those  days,  a  familiar  object  in  the  bridal 
chamber,  emblematic  of  secresy  and  silence,  and  if  Sh.  himself  should  have  placed 
him  there,  a  second  time,  to  preserve  the  arcana  of  another  clandestine  marriage  ? 
The  evidence  of  such  a  fact  would,  I  presume,  be  conclusive.  Let  us  then  turn  to 
'  Cymbeline,'  where  the  marriage  of  Imogen  was,  like  Juliet's,  clandestine,  and  the 
interviews  between  the  bride  and  bride-groom,  in  like  manner,  stolen  and  secret; 
and  there  v/e  shall  find,  amongst  the  furniture  of  the  bride's  apartment,  •  two  wink' 
ing  Cupids  Of  silver.' — Cymbeline  II,  iv,  89.  I  have  already  shown  that  '  Runaway' 
was  what  we  would  now-a-days  call  a  pet  name  for  Cupid ;  that  Cupid,  in  the  hyme- 
neal imagery,  was  a  necessary  attendant  in  the  bridal  chamber ;  and  I  have  now 
produced  him  (or  rather  an  image  representing  himself  and  his  functions)  winking 
at  the  rites  of  a  clandestine  marriage.  There  can  scarcely  be  a  doubt,  I  think,  that 
the  '  winking  Cupid'  of  Imogen's  bed-chamber  and  the  winking  Runaway  of  Juliet's 
are,  if  not  identical,  sons  of  the  same  mother.  From  what  I  can  gather  of  the 
hjTneneal  mythology,  it  appears  to  me  as  if  Cupid's  presence  in  the  bride-chamber 
was  in  all  cases  necessary,  as  signifying  the  love  between  the  parties ;  but  that  in 
cases  of  clandestine  marriage  he  was  required  to  '  wink,'  i.  e.,  neither  to  see,  nor  to 
give  light,  in  order  that  the  secret  interviews  of  the  lovers  might  be  '  untalked-of 
and  unseen.' 

And  now,  assuming  this  interpretation  established,  we  arrive  at  the  full  hymeneal 
meaning  of  the  passage ;  which  appears  to  be  this  :  Secrecy  is  essential  to  our  safety. 
Let  the  day,  therefore,  depart,  and  let  Night  spread  her  curtain  around,  and  let  not 
Cupid  discharge  his  ministry  of  lighting  up  the  bride-chamber.f  If  (as  painted  by 
some)  he  have  eyes,  let  them  wink — i.  e.,  be  darkened ;  for  we  have  need  of  dark- 
ness, that  the  interview,  being  invisible,  may  be  untalked  of;  and  we  have  no  need 
of  light,  because  lovers  can  see  by  their  own  beauties.  If,  however,  (as  depicted  by 
others,)  he  be  blind,  it  is  all  as  it  should  be;  his  blindness  agrees  with  that  dark- 
ness, for  the  sake  of  which  the  presence  of  night  is  so  desirable.^ 

In  the  ninth  line,  therefore,  love  should  be  printed  Love. 

And  now  it  may  be  asked,  how  comes  Juliet  so  conversant  with  the  topics  anu 
diction  of  this  class  of  poetry ;  and  why,  on  this  occasion,  does  she  pour  out  her  heart 
in  its  language .-' 

•  el  Tis  tv\  TpcoSoicri  Ti\a.vu>fjLfvov  Hhev  "Epuira., 
SpajreTiSat  e^o!  ecrriv.  MosCHUS. 

t  It  IS  a  circumstance  not  to  be  overlooked,  that  in  Romeus  and  Juliet,  Night  and  Cupid  are  th» 
•nlv  assietants  at  the  spousal : 

'  Contented  both,  and  yet — both  uncontented  still, 
'Till  Nighi  and  Venus"  child  give  leave — the  wedding  to  fulfil.' 
X  The  thought  of  the  b  indness  of  Love  best  agreeing  with  the  darkness  of  Niglit  occurs  igaio  la 
^1  .  i,  3J. 

32 


374  APPENDIX. 

Tn  answer  to  the  first,  we  may  observe,  that  the  nuptial  pageant  had  at  that  time 
vcome  popular  in  England.  '  The  worthy  custom,'  says  Ben  Jonson,  '  of  honouring 
worthy  marriages  with  those  noble  solemnities,  hath  of  late  years  advanced  itseif 
fcequently  with  us  to  the  reputation  no  less  of  our  Court  than  Nobles ;  expressing 
resides  (through  the  difficulties  of  expense  and  travel,  with  the  cheerfulness  of 
undertaking)  a  most  real  affection  in  the  personators  to  those  for  whose  sake  they 
would  sustain  those  pereons.'*  Although  the  scene  lies  in  Italy,  yet  Sh.  gives  to 
every  country  the  manners  of  his  own,  and  has  given  proof  of  the  habitual  occurrence 
of  such  festivities,  by  celebrating  with  the  nuptial  mask  the  marriage  of  some  of  his 
heroines.-}- 

From  the  prevalence  of  the  practice,  then,  it  is  to  be  assumed  that  Juliet  had  wit- 
nessed the  bridal  ceremonies  of  many  of  her  young  companions,  and,  like  other 
noble  persons  of  the  day,  '  expressed  a  most  real  affection'  to  the  parties  by  taking  a 
character  in  the  mask.  Thus  might  she  have  caught  up  the  topics  and  language 
appropriated  to  this  species  of  poetry ;  and  hence  may  be  inferred  her  familiarity 
with  thoughts  and  expressions  not  likely  in  any  other  way  to  have  obtained  entrance 
into  the  mind  of  an  innocent  and  unsophisticated  girl  of  fourteen  years  of  age. 

And  why  (in  the  second  place)  does  she  harp  upon  this  string  on  the  present 
occasion  ? 

Alas,  poor  Juliet !  who  is  there  that,  in  the  concomitant  circumstances,  does  not 
see  the  reason?  It  is  her  bridal  day,  but  a  bridal  without  its  triumphs. 

ov  Zvy irfv'Hfyriv  Ttv  €wev(^^^i)<r(»'  aoi5o{' 
ov  iatSiov  ri<rrpanrt  <riKat  ffaXafirinoKov  tvirijv 
ovSi  jroXw(rxap9/^<(>  tis  iire<TKiprri<Tt  )(optiji. 
oiix'  vixivaiov  aetcre  ira-rrjp  Koi  iroTi'ta  /i^TTjp. 
oAAd  At;(OS  <TTOpe<ra<Ta  TeAe(rcriya>ioi<rii'  iv  mpaif 
<rtyi)  TraoToi'  errijfei',  cfV^K^OKOfiijac  5'  Ofii'xAij, 
KoX  ya/iof  ^i'  airavtvOev  atiSofj-evoiv  viMevaiiav, 
Niif  fiiv  triy  K<iVoi<ri  ya/iotrrdXoj.t — [w.  274-282.] 

And  such  is  the  situation  of  Juliet.  Her  marriage  is  clandestine.  She  can  have  no 
nymeneal  mask.  No  troops  of  friends  led  her  to  the  church,  nor  followed  her  t« 
the  banquet.  No  father — no  mother — gave  away  her  hand.  No  minstrel  sung  ner 
nuptial  hymn ;  and  the  hour  that  should  conduct  her  all  glorious  to  the  bride-chamber 
finds  her  alone,  unfriended,  without  countenance,  without  sympathy.  Is  it  any 
wonder,  then,  that  the  absence  of  those  festive  rites,  which,  under  happier  auspices, 
would  have  given  splendour  to  her  nuptials,  should  recall  them  to  her  imagination, 

•  Introduction  to  the  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid. 

t  Miranda's,  for  instance,  with  a  Prothalamium. —  Tempest,  IV,  i ;  Rosalind's,  Celia's,  and  Ihoebe'i 
with  a  nuptial  masque. — At  You  Like  It,  V,  iv. 

t  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Marlowe  and  Chapman,  in  their  spirited  paraphrase  of  the  Hero  and 
Lcander  of  the  later  Muszus,  left  this  striking  passage  untouched.  It  is  thus  rendered  i^to  Latin  b* 
Whitford : 

'  Taeda  sed  absque  choro ;  thalamus  fiiit,  at  sine  cantu ; 
Conjugium  nullus  celebravit  carmine  vates, 
Nee  fax  ulla  tori  genialis  przvia  luxit ; 
Non  agili  juvenes  circumsilufire  choreJ, 
Nee  pater  et  mater  natis  cecinSre  hymenscum  ; 
Sed  thalamum  omarunt  tacituma  silentia  noctis, 
Atque  maritales  sponsam  obduzSre  tenebrae  : 
Et  non  cantatis  »e  conjunxtre  Hymenzi*. 
Sola  fuit  lecti  Nox  conscia.' 


RUNAWAY'S  EVES.  375 

and — with  the  vision — bring  vividly  to  her  memory  the  sentiments  ajipropriated  to 
such  occasions,  and  the  very  turn  of  expression  which  they  had  habitually  acquired  ? 
Nay,  is  it  not  of  the  very  essence  of  our  nature,  that,  pacing  that  solitary  chamber, 
while  the  twilight  was  thickening  into  darkness,  and  the  growing  silence  left  the 
throbbings  of  her  heart  audible,  she  should  brood  over  the  impassioned  imagery  of 
the  Bridal  Song,  and  give  it  a  half-unconscious  utterance  ?  Poor  Juliet !  She  had 
nobody  to  sing  this  song  for  her.     It  bursts  spontaneously  from  her  own  lips. 

I  cannot  but  think  that  this  view  invests  the  passage  with  a  melancholy  charm, 
unsurpassed  in  its  pathos  by  any  situation  in  the  whole  range  of  the  drama,  except 
perhaps  that  of  Iphigenia  at  the  sacrificial  altar.  It  is  scarcely  possible,  indeed,  that 
it  can  ever  again  awaken  emotions  so  intense  as  it  must  have  kindled  in  the  days  of 
Elizabeth  and  James ;  because  its  language  does  not  call  up  in  our  minds  the  same 
associations  as  in  the  minds  of  our  ancestors.  The  Hymeneal  Masque  has  vanished 
from  our  customs,  and  its  idiom  has  become  a  dead  letter.  To  us  the  language  is 
not  a  suggestion,  but  a  study ;  to  them  it  was  fraught  with  a  peculiar  significance, 
and  every  image  was  coupled  with  an  every-day  reality.  The  very  opening  lines — 
so  essentially  epithalamic — must  have  conjured  up,  to  an  auditory  in  whose  ears  the 
phraseology  was  as  '  familiar  as  household  words,'  '  the  whole  pride,  pomp,  and  cir- 
cumstance' of  honoured  wedlock ;  and  they  would  have  instinctively  imagined  the 
magnificent  and  joyous  solemnities  that  should  have  blessed  the  union  of  the  only 
daughter  of  the  rich  and  noble  Capulet  with  the  only  son  of  the  no  less  noble  and 
wealthy  Montague.  But  what  was  the  scene  before  their  eyes  ?  Where  was  the 
bridal  escort  ?  where  the  assembled  friends  of  •  both  their  houses'  ?  where  the  crowd 
of  gay  and  gallant  youths  who  should  have  homaged  the  beauty  of  the  bride — and 
where,  oh  where,  the  maidens  that  w6re  her  fellows  to  bear  her  company  ?  Of  all 
the  customary  pageant,  but  one  solitary  figure — the  figure  of  the  bride  herself — is  to 
be  seen.  All  is  solitude  and  darkness  and  silence.  But  one  sound  breaks  the 
unnatural  stillness — the  voice  of  that  sweet,  lonely  girl,  who^like  the  young  bird 
timidly  practising,  in  the  unfrequented  shade,  the  remembered  song  of  its  kindred — 
'  sits  darkling'  in  her  sequestered  bower,  and  eases  her  impassioned  heart  in  snatches 
of  remembered  song,  which  in  her  mind,  too,  are  associated  with  her  situation. 

And  what  a  song  it  is ! — sweet  as  the  nightingale's  that  '  nightly  sings  on  yon 
pomegranate  tree  ;*  and  ardent  as,  when  in  Eden, 

'  the  amorous  bird  of  night 
Suug  Spousal ;  and  bid  haste  the  evening  Star 
On  his  hill-top  to  light  the  bridal  lamp  ;• 

but  it  is  sad  and  ominous  withal ;  and,  to  the  auditor  familiar  with  its  import,  as  poi 
lentous  and  melancholy  as  the  fatal  descant  which,  in  poets'   ears,  preludes  the 
departure  of  the  dying  swan.      The  loves  of  Hero  and  Leander  were  (as  we  have 
seen)  presaged  to  an  evil  issue  by  the  absence  of  the  usual  festive  rites;  a  similar 
defect  forbodes  to  those  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  a  like  unhappy  destiny. 

What  heart  in  the  auditory  but  must  have  been  smitten  with  compassion  for  N. 
bride  ?     What  eyes  could  have  withheld  the  tribute  of  a  flood  of  tears  ? 

To  my  mind  this  passage  possesses,  independently  of  its  natural  beauty,  an  artist- 
ical  charm  worthy  of  the  highest  admiration :  that  consummate  skill,  I  mean,  with 

•  Though  the  Paradise  Lost  be  not  a  hymeneal  poem,  this  passage,  in  which  the  poet  properly  treats 
hymeneal  subject  in  the  appropriated  style,  might  have  been  adduced  as  an  additional  illustr.  tion  of 

tne  hymeneal  character  of  the  passages  there  quoted  from  the  soliloquy.   The  same  observ-atior  i>pp!ief 

to  Th"  Tempest,  IV,      sg. 


37t)  APPENDIX. 

which  the  poet  has  contrived  to  pour  forth  from  the  lips  of  his  young,  and  innocent, 
ind  enthusiastic,  heroine,  the  '  thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  bum'  of  the 
most  ardent  passion,  without  overstepping  the  truth  of  nature,  or  leaving  on  ths 
maidenly  pureness  of  her  character  the  slightest  stain  of  immodesty.  The  feelings 
proper  to  her  passion  and  situation  are  undoubtedly  her  own ;  but  the  expression  of 
them  is  suggested  by  external  circumstances,  and  the  language  in  which  they  are 
clothed  unconsciously  borrowed  from  the  conventional  vocabulary  used  on  such  occa 
sions  by  the  noblest  in  the  land,  and  in  the  hearing  of  the  most  virtuous. 

Collier  [^ Notes  and  Emend.,'  '853].  Perhaps  no  emendation  can  be  declared 
perfectly  satisfactory.  The  change  proposed  by  the  (MS.)  at  all  events  makes  very 
clear  sense,  although  it  may  still  remain  a  question  whether  that  sense  be  the  sense 
of  the  poet.  Another  subsidiary  question  will  be,  how  so  elaborate  a  mistake  could 
have  been  made  out  of  so  simple  and  common  a  word  ?  In  the  margin  of  the  folio 
1632,  the  (MS.)  gives  enemies' ,  spelt  enimyes ;  but  the  letters  are,  perhaps,  too  i^^  to 
have  been  mistaken  for  run-awaies :  such  would  not  have  been  the  case  if  in  the 
original  manuscript  it  had  been  spelt  ennemyes,  which  was  not  then  an  uncommon 
form  of  the  word.  It  is  extremely  natural  that  Juliet  should  wish  the  eyes  of  enemies 
to  be  closed  in  order  tliat  they  might  not  see  Romeo  leap  to  her  arms  and  talk 
of  it  afterwards, 

Dyce  {'Few  Notes,'  p.  Ill,  1853).  I  now  venture  to  submit  another  conjecture: 
•  That  roving  eyes,'  &c.,  a  conjecture  founded  on  the  supposition  that  tlie  word 
'roving'  having  been  written  (and  written  rather  illegibly)  'roauinge'  (Fairfax,  in 
his  Tasso,  B.  iv,  st.  87,  has,  'At  some  her  gazing  glances  roauing  flew'),  the  com- 
positor metamorphosed  it  into  '  run-awayes.' 

Rev.  Mr.  Hunter  ('A  Fe-w  Words  in  Reply,'  &c.,  p.  19,  1853).  .  .  .  And  now 
comes  Mr.  Dyce  with  '  roving,'  which  makes  the  blank  verse  halt  for  it.  After  all, 
none  of  them,  it  seems  to  me,  are  at  all  to  be  preferred  to  the  text  as  we  have  it, 
'  runaways'.'  It  is  not  in  Sh.'s  best  manner,  but  then  the  greatest  poet  is  not  always 
in  his  finest  mood.  '  Runaways'  I  understand  to  be  the  same  as  '  Runagates,'  for 
which  we  have  a  kind  of  authority,  a  poor  one  I  allow,  in  Dyche's  '  Dictionary,' 
1735,  •  Runagate  or  Runaway,  a  rover  or  wanderer.'  This  approaches  nearly  to  Mr. 
Dyce's  sense  of  the  passage,  without  destroying  the  measure.  Juliet  wishes  that  the 
night  maybe  so  pitchy  dark,  that  should  Romeo  meet  with  any  runagates  (runaways) 
wandering  about  the  streets,  he  may  not  be  recognized,  or  even  observed  by 
them. 

Singer  {'Sh.  Vindicated,'  p.  233,  1853).  The  (MS.)'s  substitution  of  enemies  is 
worse  than  Jackson's.  A  very  good  conjecture  is  given  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Halpin. 
The  circumstantial  evidence  adduced  for  the  retention  of  the  old  reading,  showing 
that  Cupid  was  the  runaway  in  Juliet's  mind,  is  extremely  ingenious,  if  not 
satisfactory. 

Singer  {N.  and  Qu.,  vol.  viii,  p.  3,  1853).  Monck  Mason  seems  to  have  had  th« 
clearest  notion  of  the  requirements  of  the  passage,  but  he  was  not  happy  in  suggest- 
ing renomy.  I  was  not  conscious  of  having  seen  the  suggestion  of  Heath's  when  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  word  must  have  been  rumourers,  and  that  from  its 
anfrequent  occurrence  (the  only  other  example  of  it  at  present  known  to  me  being 
one  afforded  by  the  poet)  the  printer  mistook  it  for  rzmawayes,  which,  when  written 
uidistincuy,  it  may  have  closely  resembled.  It  fulfills  the  requirements  of  both 
metre  and  sense,  and  the  words  untalk'd  of  and  unseen  make  it  nearly  indisputable. 
I  had  at  first  thought  that  it  might  be  '  rumorous  eyes,'  bv'  the  personification  would 


■I 


/SC/A'APVAV'S  EVES.  377 

then  be  wanting.  Sh.  has  personified  Rumour  in  the  Introduction  to  2  Hen,  IV; 
and  in  Coriolanus  IV,  vi,  47,  we  have,  '  Go  see  this  rumourer  whipp'd.' 

Blackwood's  Maga.  (vol.  Ixxiv,  p.  455,  1853).  Who  is  a  'Runaway?'  He  is  a 
printer's  (not  devil  but)  blunder,  says  the  old  Corrector :  we  should  read  enemies. 
Those  may  read  enemies  who  choose.  We  certainly  shall  not — no,  not  even  at  the 
bidding  of  Queen  Victoria  herself.  We  shall  not  turn  ourselves  into  a  goose  to 
please  the  ghost  of  an  old  amateur  play-corrector,  though  he  should  keep  rapping 
at  us  till  his  knuckles  are  worn  out.  Read  Rumourers,  says  Mr.  Singer.  No,  Mr. 
Singer,  we  will  not  read  Rumourers.  Read  this  thing,  and  read  that  thing,  say 
other  wise  authorities.  No,  gentlemen,  we  shall  not  read  anything  except  what  Sh. 
wrote,  and  we  know  for  certain  that  the  word  which  he  wrote  was  '  Runaway's,'  just 
as  it  stands  in  the  books,  for  we  learnt  this  from  a  medium  ;  yes,  and  the  medium 
was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Halpin,  who  has  proved  to  our  entire  satisfaction  that  the  text  calls 
for,  and  indeed  admits  of,  no  other  alteration.  There  could  not  be  a  happier-chosen 
or  more  expressive  word  than  *  Runaway's'  as  here  employed. 

Patrick  Muirson  {N.  and  Q.,  vol.  viii,  Oct.  22,  1853).  I  interpret  'runaTrays' 
as  signifying  '  persons  going  about  on  the  watch.'  Perhaps  runagates,  according  to 
modern  usage,  would  come  nearer  to  the  proposed  signification,  but  not  to  be  quite 
up  to  it. 

Grant  White  \^Sh:s  Scholar^  p.  373,  1854].  The  error  will  probably  : emain 
for  ever  uncorrected,  unless  a  word  which  I  venture  to  suggest  seems  to  others  as 
unexceptionable  as  it  does  to  me.  yuliet  desires  that  somebody's  eyes  may  wink, 
so  that  Romeo  may  leap  to  her  arms  'untalkedof  as  well  as  'unseen.'  She  wishes 
to  avoid  the  scandal,  the  bruit,  which  would  ensue  upon  the  discovery  of  her  new- 
made  husband's  secret  visit. 

I  think,  therefore,  and  also  because  the  misprint  is  by  no  means  improbable,  that 
Sh.  wrote  '  rumoures  eyes.'  The  absence  of  a  long  letter  in  rumoures,  to  correspond 
with  the  y  in  '  run-awayes,'  does  not  trouble  me.  I  have  repeatedly  found  in  my 
proofs  words  containing  long  letters  when  the  word  which  I  wrote  contained  none, 
and  vice  versd.  It  should  be  noticed,  too,  that  neither  unawares  nor  enemies  contains 
a  long  letter.  •  Rumor'  was  spelt  rumoure  in  Sh.'s  day,  and  the  possessive  case 
rumoures,  of  course. 

As  to  Rumor's  eyes,  they  are  as  necessary  to  her  office  as  are  her  ears  or  her 
tongues.     Virgil's  Fama  is  but  Rumor,  and  of  her  he  says : 

'  Cui  quot  sunt  corpore  plumje 
Tot  vigiles  oculi  subter,  mirabile  dictu, 
Tot  linguje,  totidem  ora  sonant,  tot  subrigit  aures.' — 

Mneid,  Lib.  IV,  i8i. 

And  in  Sh.'s  day  Rumor  was  represented  with  eyes  as  well  as  tongues,  as  we 
know  by  the  following  description,  evidently  founded  on  Virgil's  impersonation : 

'  Directly  under  her  in  a  cart  by  herselfe.  Fame  stood  upright :  a  woman  in  a  watchet  roabe,  thickly 
set  with  open  eyes  and  tongues,  a  payre  of  large  golden  winges  at  her  backe,  a  trumpet  in  her  hand,  a 
mantle  of  sundry  cullours  traversing  her  body :  all  these  ensigns  displaying  but  the  propertie  of  her 
Bwiftnesse  and  aptnesse  to  disperse  Rumoure.'' — The  whole  tnagnificent  Etiierlainement  given  ia 
f^i*^S  y^*tes  and  ike  queen  his  IVi/e,  &c.  15  March,  \to\.     By  Thomas  Decker,  410,  1604. 

Sh.,  however,  had  brought  Rumour  personally  before  his  audience  :n  the  Induction 
to  2  Hen.  IV,  where  she  is  '  painted  full  of  tongues.'     These  quotations  merely 
show  that  the  idea  was  sufficiently  familiar  to  his  auditors,  leamea  and  unlearned, 
for  him  to  use  it  in  this  manner 
32  • 


378  APPENDIX. 

But  iliese  considerations  are  not  urged  to  gain  acceptance  for  tl  e  reading  which  1 
propose;  their  office  is  but  to  meet  objections  to  it.  If  it  do  not  commend  iteelf  at 
once  to  the  intelligent  readers  of  Sh.  with  a  favor  which  increases  upon  reflection, 
no  argument  can,  or  should,  fasten  it  upon  the  text. 

Mr.  Collier's  (MS.)  furnishes  'enemies'^  a  reading  which  is  perhaps  the  worst  tbat 
has  been  offered. 

A  correspondent  from  St.  Louis  suggested  '  noonday's  eyes,'  which  is  not  without 
some  plausibility;  and  it  resembles  somewhat  one  of  the  readings  proposed  by 
Dyce.  But  even  if  there  were  no  objection,  as  to  time,  against  the  word  *  noonday,' 
there  is  a  literalness  and  particularity  about  it  which  are  poetically  out  of  place  ia 
the  passage  for  which  it  is  proposed.  But  supposing  such  particularity  not  objec- 
tionable on  the  higher  grounds  of  criticism,  the  time  specified  in  the  term  is  incon- 
sistent with  the  requirements  of  the  scene;  and  therefore  Sh.  would  have  been 
particular,  only  to  be  particularly  wrong.  This  is  evident  from  the  fact,  which  a 
short  examination  will  bring  to  light,  that  Juliet  was  not  married  until  after  noon- 
day, and  that  some  hours  elapsed  between  her  marriage  and  the  time  of  this  solilo- 
quy. [To  prove  that  this  soliloquy  is  spoken  toward  evening,  Mr.  White  cites  the 
following  lines  :  II,  v,  i  and  2;  II,  iv,  163,  and  III,  ii,  99.]  But  what  need  of  this 
comparison  of  hours  and  minutes  ?  Is  not  the  soliloquy  itself  steeped  in  the  pas- 
sion-breathing languor  of  a  summer's  afternoon  just  melting  into  twilight?  Is  it 
not  plain  that  yuliet  has  been  watching  the  sun  sink  slowly  down  to  the  hotizon 
and  gazing  pensively  into  the  golden  air,  until  her  own  imaginings  have  taken  on  its 
glowing  hue,  and  then  she  breaks  out  into  her  longing  prayer  for  night  and  Romeo  ? 
Facts  and  figures  tell  us  that  her  soliloquy  is  spoken  just  before  sunset;  but  what 
reader  of  the  whole  soliloquy  will  not  set  aside  the  evidence  of  facts  and  figuies  as 
superfluous — almost  impertinent  ? 

[Mr.  White  here  states  that  the  same  emendation,  sustained  by  the  same  quotation 
from  Virgil,  had  been  communicated  to  him  by  a  friend — Mr.  Hoppin  of  Provi- 
dence, R.  I. — but  that  both  himself  and  his  friend  had  been  anticipated  by  Heath 
and  Singer,  as  he  learned  from  the  latter's  communication  to  N.  and  Qu.,  to  which 
his  attention  was  first  called  by  a  correspondent  in  South  Carolina.  Ed.] 

Here,  then,  we  have  three  coincident  conjectures  from  three  persons,  each  ignorant 
of  the  other's  suggestion,  which,  if  the  word  which  they  propose  to  substitute  be 
acceptable  in  itself,  adds  greatly  to  the  probability  that  it  restores  the  true  reading. 
Singer's  independent  conjecture  that  rumourer's  is  the  word  also  aff'ords  collateral 
support  to  the  former,  the  idea  being  the  same  in  both.  But  it  should  be  remarked 
that  the  line  does  not  need  a  word  of  three  syllables.  The  typographical  error 
which  gave  us  runaways,  and  which  Singer  would  correct  by  substituting  rumourers' 
almost  certainly  loaded  the  line  with  a  redundant  syllable.  Notice  also  that  the 
addition  of  an  r  diminishes  the  chances  for  an  error  by  the  compositor.  It  would 
be  far  more  likely  that  •  rumourifj'  should  be  mistaken  for  '  runawayifj'  than  that 
•  rumour^rj'  should  cause  the  same  error.  Yet  another  objection  against  '  rumour- 
erj'  is  that  its  particularity  is  inconsistent  with  the  poetical  character  of  the  passage, 
in  which  yuliet  uses  only  large  and  general  terms. 

Collier  claims,  with  reason,  that  the  occurrence  of  the  same  conjectural  emenda- 
tion to  two  readers  of  Sh.,  without  consultation,  is  cumulative  evidence  in  its  favor ; 
and  here,  in  eff'ect,  is  such  a  coincident  conjecture  on  the  part  of  four.  But,  what 
evei  may  be  the  decision  between  Singer  on  the  one  hand,  and  Heath,  Mr.  Hoppin 
and  myself  on  the  other,  I  think  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  word  demanded  by  the 


/?C/JVA IVAN'S   EVES.  379 

context  is  either  Humout^s  or  rumourers,  and  I  am  quite  willing  to  forego  my  claim 
for  the  discovery  in  favor  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Heath,  to  whom  the  credit  of  first 
'guessing'  at  the  idea  belongs;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  my  Providence  corre- 
spondent is  like-minded  with  me.  Let  those  dispute  or  sneer  about  priority  of  con- 
jecture whose  minds  and  natures  fit  them  to  snarl  over  trifles, — the  scraps  and  crumbs 
of  literary  reputation  :  the  object  of  all  who  have  the  true  enthusiasm  of  Sh.'n  stu- 
dents is  not  personal  credit,  but  the  integrity  of  Sh.'s  text. 

I  had  altogether  passed  by  the  theory  advocated  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Halpin  as  carry- 
ing its  refutation  on  its  face ;  but  as  it  has  recently  found  some  favor  with  a  few 
whose  judgments  are  entitled  to  respect,  it  is  but  proper  that  its  claims  to  considera- 
tion should  be  examined.  His  argument  occupies  nineteen  octavo  pages.  [Mr. 
White  here  gives  Mr.  Halpin's  *  positions  and  conclusions  briefly'  in  fifteen  lines.  Ed.] 
This  argument  is  very  learned  and  very  ingenious,  but  far  more  learning  and  inge- 
nuity have  been  displayed  in  the  support  of  theories  which,  though  more  plausible, 
were  equally  unsound.  To  examine  it  more  properly  we  should  have  the  entire 
soliloquy  before  us  as  it  appears  in  F,.  .  .  .  Is  there  anything  here  more  than  an 
expression  of  the  feelings  of  a  newly  married  girl  '  many  fathom  deep  in  love  ?'  Is 
there  not  an  utter  absence  of  all  formality  and  restraint  in  the  construction  of  the 
soliloquy  ?  and  is  not  the  same  freedom  shown  in  the  diction  ?  It  would  be  difficult 
to  point  out  in  poetry  a  passage  which  has  less  the  air  of  being  constructed  with 
regard  to  a  formula.  Indeed,  the  poet  seems  to  have  been  under  no  restraint  but 
that  of  versification ;  and  not  to  have  felt  that.  Juliet  expresses  her  longing  for  the 
coming  of  night  several  times ;  but  that  is  evidently  only  because  she  wants  night  to 
come.  The  approach  of  the  time  which  will  bring  Romeo  to  her  absorbs  her  whole 
mind.  There  is  no  '  intercalary  principle,'  or  any  other  principle,  evident  in  the 
soliloquy.  Even  Mr.  Halpin  can  only  find  that  'four  several  invocations  to  Night, 
more  or  less  varied,  occur  at  intervals  more  or  less  regular.'  But  the  variation  is 
decidedly  more,  and  the  regularity  decidedly  less.  With  the  same  license,  almost 
any  soliloquy  might  be  said  to  be  constructed  on  an  intercalary  principle.  This 
assumption  of  the  hymeneal  character  of  the  soliloquy,  which  is  the  very  key-stone 
of  Mr.  Halpin's  argument,  is  plainly  but  assumption ;  and,  of  course,  the  importance 
of  Cupid  in  the  hymeneal  masques,  and  the  frequency  of  those  masques  in  Sh.'s 
day,  are  of  no  farther  consequence. 

As  to  Cupid  being  called  a  runaway  by  Moschus,  what  did  Sh.  know  about  that  ? 
It  is  not  necessary  to  be  of  the  Farmer  school  as  to  the  no  learning  of  Sh.  to  decide 
at  once  that  the  supposition  that  he  had  read  the  ode  of  Moschus  in  the  original  is 
entirely  unwarranted ;  and  in  his  day  there  was  no  translation  of  it.  But  even  if  he 
had  found  Cupid  called  a  runaway  by  some  Greek  or  Latin  authors,  would  he  upon 
that  warrant  have  called  him  '  runaway,'  absolutely  and  without  mitigation,  not  even 
calling  him  '  a  runaway,'  and  having  made  no  previous  allusion  to  him  ?  and  this, 
too,  to  a  mixed  audience,  not  one  in  fifty  of  whom  had  the  tongues  ?  Such  was  not 
his  way  of  writing  for  the  audiences  of  the  Blackfriars  and  the  Globe. 

The  fact  that  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid,  calls  Cupid  « Venus's 
Runaway,'  is  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  because  when  the  Masque  opens  Cupid  has  run 
vway  from  Venus,  and  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  avoid  speaking  of  him  as 
Venus's  runaway.  He  is  never  spoken  of  simply  as  a  runaway;  much  less  is  he 
called  absolutely  'runaway,'  even  by  Jonson.  He  is  'Venus's  runaway,'  just  as 
Pompey,  who  runs  away  from  Mr.  Randolph  of  South  Carolina,  is  Mr.  Randolph's 
runaway.   B~it  even  were  this  not  so,  the  occurrence  of  the  epithet  in  Jonson's  Masque 


38o  APPENDIX.     , 

does  not  help  Mr.  Halpin,  because  that  was  not  written  until  i6o8;  whereas,  Romn 
an  J  Ju'.ut  was  written  as  early  as  1 596,  and  this  soliloquy  was  printed  in  Q,.* 
Mr.  Ilalpin's  eagerness  in  the  defence  of  his  theory  probably  blinded  him  to  these 
conclusive  fa-Jts. 

That  the  andirons  in  Imogen^s  bed-chamber  could  have  any  acknowledged  hyme- 
neal significance,  the  very  fact  of  her  marriage,  and  the  great  dread  which  she  had 
of  exposure,  forbids  us  to  believe.  If  winking  Cupids  had  hymeneal  symbolism  so 
universally  recognized  that  it  was  only  necessary  for  Sh.  to  write  '  that  runaway's 
eyes  may  wink'  in  order  to  have  a  promiscuous  audience  know  that  Juliet  was 
thinking  of  a  winking  Cupid  as  a  part  of  a  hymeneal  pageant,  Imogen  would  surely 
have  kept  them  out  of  her  chamber  at  all  hazards. 

Mr.  Halpin's  remark,  that  in  the  poem  of  Romeus  and  yuliet  '  Night  and  Cupid 
are  the  only  assistants  at  the  spousal,'  does  not  represent  the  passage  in  its  true  light. 
It  is  merely  narrative ;  the  allusions  to  Night  and  Cupid  are  incidental  and  obvious, 
and  are  made,  not  at  the  time  when  hymeneal  allusions  were  appropriate,  but  when 
Romeo  and  yuliet  par.  at  the  Friar's  cell : 

'  These  said,  they  kisse,  and  then  part  to  theyr  father's  house, 
The  joyfull  bride  vnto  her  home,  to  his  eke  goth  the  spouse  ; 
Contented  both,  and  yet  both  uncontented  still. 
Till  Night  and  Venus  child  geve  leave  the  wedding  to  fulfill' 

How  the  perception  of  a  clever  and  learned  man  may  be  perverted  is  shown  by 
die  reference  which  Mr.  Halpin  makes  to  yuliet' s  supposition,  'Or  if  love  be  blind,' 
&c.,  which  he  thinks  '  implies  that  she  had  already  considered  "  Love"  in  the  correla- 
tive condition,  and  regarded  him  as  able  to  see.'  But  yuliet  does  not  make  reference 
here  to  the  god  of  Love,  but  to  a  pair  of  lovers.     Thus  she  says : 

'Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites 
By  their  own  beauties ;  or  if  love  be  blind,''  Sic 

The  fact  that  '  love'  is  spelled  with  a  capital  letter  in  no  way  confirms  Mr.  Hal- 
pin's  supposition ;  because  the  word  is  so  spelled  in  every  instance  in  which  it 
occurs  in  the  soliloquy,  as  may  be  seen  by  reference  to  the  passage  as  it  is  quoted 
above  from  F,.  Thus  '  Love-performing,'  '  strange  Love  grown  bold,'  '  true  Love 
acted,'  '  in  Love  with  night,'  '  the  mansion  of  a  Love.'  Evidently  no  one  of  these 
•  Loves'  has  any  more  reference  to  Cupid  than  the  other ;  and  this  is  still  further 
shown,  as  far  as  the  old  typography  can  show  it,  by  the  fact  that  in  the  older  quarto 
the  word  is  not  spelled  in  this  soliloquy  with  a  capital  letter  in  a  single  instance. 

To  leave  no  part  of  Mr.  Halpin's  argument  unanswered,  his  supposition  that  the 
numberless  works  of  ancient  art,  in  which  Cupid  is  represented  as  captured,  impris- 
oned, caged,  fettered,  and  with  his  wings  bound,  are  to  be  referred  to  '  his  notorious 
propensity  tc  rut^ning  away  from  his  mother,'  is  innocent  indeed.  He  should  havf 
consulted  female  counsel  before  venturing  on  such  a  plea.  Women  in  classic  days 
were  at  heart  much  like  women  of  now-a-days;  and  then,  as  now,  they  would  sec 
Love  bound,  not  for  his  mother's  sake,  but  their  own. 

There  is,  it  seems  to  me,  not  the  least  shadow  of  a  reason  for  believing  that  Sh. 
would,  without  having  so  much  as  made  an  allusion  to  Cupid,  speak  of  him  abso- 

•  Ben  Jonson  did  not  call  his  Masque  The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid:  that  title  was  given  to  it  by 
Gifford  80  lately  as  1816.  In  the  folio  of  i6i5  it  is  called: — The  Description  of  the  Masqve  with  thi 
Nuptiall  Songs  at  the  Lord  Vicount  Haddi  gton's  marriage  at  Court  On  the  Shroue-tuesdai 
■■Kht.  1608. 


RLTNA WAY'S  EYES.  381 

lutely  as  '  runaway,'  even  supposing  that  he  had  any  reason  to  expect  that  his  audi- 
ence would  understand  the  epithet.  This,  we  have  seen,  was  not  the  case ;  and  also 
that  he  would  not  have  understood  it  himself. 

But  besides  this,  there  is  one  other  consideration  which  is  in  itself  conclusive  upon 
this  point. 

Let  it  be  remarked  that  the  eyes  in  question  were  to  close  as  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  a  previous  act.  Juliet  says,  '  spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing 
Night,'  in  order  that — what  ?  That  Love's  eyes  may  wink  ?  The  absurdity  of  the 
prayer  is  apparent.  The  argument  for  Cupid  is  worth  absolutely  nothing  until  it  has 
been  shown  that  the  coming  of  Night  would  as  a  matter  of  course  put  him  to  sleep. 
But  reason  teaches  and  testimony  establishes  that  night  is  exactly  the  time  when  that 
interesting  young  gentleman  is  particularly  wide  awake.  However  much  jfitliet 
might  desire  even  Love's  eyes  to  close  on  that  occasion,  it  is  ridiculous  to  make  the 
advent  of  'love-performing  Night'  the  cause  of  his  going  to  sleep;  whereas  it  is 
entirely  consistent  that  she  should  wish  Night  to  cause  those  prying  or  wandering 
eyes  which  are  personified  in  Rumor's,  to  close,  that  Romeo  may  come  to  her  '  un> 
talked  of  and  unseen.' 

When  we  remember  the  vital  importance  of  the  secresy  of  Juliet^ s  nuptials,  and 
the  desire  which  must  have  been  almost  uppermost  in  her  heart,  that  Romeo  migh* 
be  seen  entering  her  chamber  window  by  no  one  who  could  talk  of  or  rumor  it,  and 
knowing,  as  we  do,  that  Sh.  and  his  audiences  were  in  the  habit  of  seeing  such 
people  typified  in  the  person  of  Rumor,  covered  with  open  eyes,  and  painted  full  of 
tongues,  can  there  be  any  doubt  that  '  rumoures  eyes'  were  the  words  written  by  the 
poet  ?  * 

Ulrici  adopts  the  explanation  of  Mr.  Halpin. 

Delius.   The  eyes  of  such  fugitives  and  vagabonds  as  tramp  about  at  night. 

Singer  (ed.  2)  substantially  repeats  his  note  on  p.  376. 

Staunton.  We  must  decline  the  invidious  task  of  pronouncing  an  opinion  upon 
the  relative  merits  of  the  various  suggestions,  believing  that  all  are  equally  inadmis- 
sible. Whether  Sh.'s  '  run-away'  applied  to  Romeo,  or  to  Juliet,  or  to  Day,  or  to 
Night,  or  to  the  Sun,  for  whom  a  good  case  might  be  made  out, — 

'  You,  grandsire  Phoebus,  with  your  lovely  eye, 
Tht  firmament's  eternal  vagabond. 
The  Heav'n's  promoter  that  doth  peep  and  pry.' — Retum/rom  Pamassut, 

or  to  the  Moon,  who  has  some  claim  to  the  distinction, — 

•  Blest  night,  wrap  Cynthia  in  a  sable  sheet, 
That  fearful  lovers  may  securely  sleep.' — Blurt,  Master  Constable,  III,  i, — 

or  to  the  Stars,  for  whom  much  might  be  said ;  or  whether  '  run-away'  sometimes 
bore  a  wider  signification,  and  implied  a  spy  as  well  as  a  fugitive, — in  which  case 
the  poet  may  have  meant,  any  wandering,  prying  eyes, — we  are  convinced  that  the 
old  word  is  the  true  word,  and  that  '  run-aways'  (runnawayes)  ought  to  retain  its 
place  in  the  text. 

Hudson.  Mr.  Grant  White,  we  think,  justifies  the  change  to  Rumour's,  as  fully, 
perhaps,  as  the  nature  of  the  case  can  well  admit.  The  objection  to  'enemies!'  eyes' 
is,  that  from  the  nature  of  the  case  all  eyes,  as  well  of  friends  as  of  enemies,  are 
required  to  be  closed,  so  that  Romeo's  visit  may  be  absolutely  unknown,  save  to 


•  The  probability  that  the  letter  m  held  the  place  in  manuscript  which  n  takes  in  the  printed  w«d,  la 
increased  I  y  the  feet  that  in  the  early  410  impressions  the  word  is  spelled  '  runttawayet.' 


382  APPENDIX. 

those  already  privy  to  it.  Of  course  the  theory  of  the  text  is,  that  Rumour,  personi- 
fied, represents  the  power  of  human  observation  ;  and  that  Juliet  longs  to  have  the 
night  come,  when  the  eyes  of  Rumour  shall  be  shut  in  sleep,  so  as  to  take  in  nothing 
for  her  tongues  to  work  with ;  because,  as  things  now  stand,  the  lovers  can  meet  and 
know  each  other  as  man  and  wife,  only  when  the  eye  of  observation  is  closed  or 
withdrawn.  I',  may  be  well  to  add,  as  lending  some  support  to  Rumouf's,  that 
Brooke's  poem  has  a  similar  personification  of  Report.  It  is  where  Juliet  is  ques- 
tioning with  he-.-self  as  to  whether  Romeo's  •  bent  of  love  be  honourable,  his  purpose 

marriage :' 

'  So,  I  defylde,  Report  shall  take  her  trompe  of  blacke  defame. 

Whence  she  with  puffed  cheeke  shall  blowe  a  blast  so  shrill. 

Of  my  disprayse,  that  with  the  noyse  Verona  shall  she  filL' 

MiTFORD  {^Cursory  Notes,'  &c.,  1856,  p.  43).  It  is  not  my  intention  to  make  any 
remarks  on  the  various  conjectures  of  the  commentators  on  this  much-disputed  passage, 
further  than  by  observing,  that  each  conjecture  I  believe  to  be  supported  by  the  single 
vote  of  its  parent — the  person  who  brings  it  forward.  Amid  such  diversity  of  opinion, 
the  ground  may  be  considered  to  be  quite  open  for  any  fresh  adventurer. 

There  is  an  older  poem,  called,  The  Tragicall  Hystory  of  Romeus  and  Juliet, 
1562.  That  this  poem  would  throw  some  light  on  the  language  of  the  play,  if  known 
to  Sh.,  was  most  probable ;  I  therefore  read  it  carefully,  and  with  particular  attention 
to  those  expressions  mutually  made  use  of  in  the  earlier  poem  and  in  the  later  play. 
Such  verbal  coincidences  as  were  expected,  appeared ;  and  it  became  clear  that  our 
great  Dramatist  had  that  poem  before  him  during  the  composition  of  his  romantic 
fiction.  I  have  made  some  little  division  of  the  subject  into  its  different  parts,  such 
as  the  nature  of  it  admitted,  the  quotations  being  chiefly  confined  to  the  very  incident 
related  in  the  play  which  forms  the  subject  of  inquiry.     Poem: 

1.  When  Phoebus  from  our  hemisphere  in  western  wave  doe  sinke. 

2.  The  hoittness  of  PhaebuJ  steeds  in  great  dispyte  they  blame. 

3.  As  oft  in  summer-tide,  -when  clouds  do  dinime  the  sunne, 
And  straight  again  in  clearest  skye  his  restless  steeds  do  runne. 

4.  The  golden-crested  Phcebus  bosteth  him  in  skye. 

5.  When  thou  ne  lookest  wide,  ne  closely  dost  thou  winke. 

6.  llie  golden  sun  art  gone  to  lodge  him  in  the  west. 

Now,  compare  the  expressions  marked  in  italics  in  the  quotations  with  those  in 
the  passage  under  consideration,  as — I.  Fiery-footed  steeds;  2.  Phoebus' lodging; 
3.  Whip  you  to  the  west ;  4.  Eyes  may  winke,* — and  we  shall  arrive  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  author  of  the  play  had  the  poem  before  him,  and  made  use  of  some 
remarkable  expressions  in  it.     Again : — Poem  : 

I.  Vourg  Romeo  climbs  fair  Juliet's  botuer  at  night 

a.  So  light  he  wox,  he  leap'd  the  wall,  and  then  he  spyde  his  wyfe. 

3.  And  from  the  window's  top  down  had  he  leaped  sciTCt, 

But  she  with  artns  outstretched  wide,  so  hard  did  him  embrace. 

4.  And  by  her  long  and  slender  arms  a  great  while  then  she  hung. 

Now,  see  the  play : 

1.  When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a  fiend, 
a.  Leap  to  these  arms  untalked  of  and  unseen. 

•  Sh.  oset  the  word  winking  with  an  unusual  application  in  the  following  passage : 

'onfronU  your  city's  eyes,  your  winking  gates'— King  John  II,  i,  »i5. 


J^l/JVAIVAV'S  EVES.  383 

Again  : — Poem  : 

I.  But  black-faced  Night  with  winter  rough,  ah  I  beaten  over  sore. 

a.  But  when  on  earth  the  Night  her  mantle  black  hath  spread 

3.  — —  if  they  the  heavens  might  gyde. 

Black  shade  of  Night,  and  double  dark  should  straight  all  over  byd«. 

Compare  the  play : 

1.  And  bring  in  cloudy  Night. 

2.  ——  come,  dvil  Night, 

Thou  sober-suited  matron  all  in  black, 

3.  With  thy  blacke  mantle. 

4.  Come  loving,  black-brow'd  Night. 
Again  : — Poem  : 

1.  Of  corde  I  will  bespeake  a  ladder  by  that  time. 

By  which  this  night,  while  other  sleepe,  /  vuiU  your  windoio  climh. 

2.  And  for  the  time  to  come,  let  be  our  busy  care. 

So  wisely  to  direct  our  love  as  no  wight  else  beware. 

Now  for  the  play  : 

I.  And  bring  thee  cordes  made  like  a  tackling  stair* 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night. 

3.  I  must  another  way 

To  fetch  a  ladder,  by  which  you,  love. 

Must  climb  a  bird's  nest  soon  when  it  is  darke. 
3.  Leap  to  these  arms  untalked  of  and  unseen. 

The  quotations  thus  made  will  be  sufficient  to  show  the  close  attention  paid  by  the 
author  of  the  play,  both  to  the  substance  of  the  story  and  language  of  the  old  poem, 
through  this  particular  portion  of  the  drama ;  for  the  remainder,  not  coming  within 
the  present  purpose,  has  not  been  examined  and  collated  with  the  same  scrupulous 
and  verbal  minuteness. 

The  crux  criticorum  in  this  passage  is  in  the  word  '  runaway,'  which,  being  con- 
gidered  to  be  a  corrupt  reading,  has  been  rejected,  and  many  words  by  conjecture 
substituted  by  ingenious  persons,*  much  pleased  and  satisfied  with  their  separate 
offspring,  and  not  wanting  in  due  parental  affection  to  recommend  them  to  public 
favour.  From  all  such  persons  I  am,  however,  obliged  to  differ,  as  I  consider  '  run- 
away' to  be  the  true,  authentic,  and  original  expression  of  Sh.,  and  that  by  him  it  is 
here  used  in  the  sense  of  Cupid  or  Love. 

Now,  there  are  two  things  which  Juliet  stands  in  need  of,  to  secure  the  success  of 
her  amorous  projects  and  adventures — i.  e.,  that  night  should  come  and  that  Cupid 
should  be  blind ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  deeds  of  love  should  be  hidden  in 
larkness  from  the  eyes  and  observation  of  the  world.  In  a  line  that  follows,  she 
says,  what  is  explanatory  of  the  former  one :  '  If  love  be  blind  It  best  agrees  with 
Night.'     Now,  what  says  the  elder  poem  ? 

'  Contented  both,  and  yet  uncontented  srill. 
Till  Night  and  Venus'  child  give  leave  this  wedding  to  fulfill' 

Thus  the  success  of  Juliet's  designs  depended  on  the  junction  of  Night  and  Cupid 
in  the  poem  as  well  as  in  the  play.  But  then  comes  the  question,  Why  is  Love  or 
Cupid  called  Runaway  ?    Now,  Love  is  the  'Epwf  SpairirTic  of  the  Greek  poets ;  atvd 


•  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  of  the  truth  of  an  observation  made  by  a  first-rate  critic  and  scholar 
of  the  last  age,—'  Paud  sunt,  qui  de  bonis  correct ionibus  bene  judicare  possint'  Nor  is  it  a  less  rare 
pft,  '  spuria  liscemere  a  germanis.' 


3S4  APPENDIX. 

what  is  the  interpretation  of  f^parrf r^j-  in  the  dictionaries  ? — Runaway.  Again,  he  ii 
the  '  amor  fugitivus'  of  tlie  Latin  poets.  How  is  that  word  explained  ? — Runaivay 
What  is  Cotgrave's  transhation  oi  fugitve  ? — Again,  Runaivay.  It  is  the  usual  word. 
« WTien  Cupid  with  his  smacking  whip  issueth  forth  to  runne.^*  It  must  also  be 
observed,  that  it  was  necessary  that  the  term  should  be  varied,  as  Love  is  mentioned 
not  less  than  eight  times  in  this  passage ;  and  had  he  been  designated  here  by  his 
noiVCitfCupiJ,  that  mythological  term,  joined  to  Phcebus  and  Phaeton,  would  have  given 
it  an  unnaturally  stiff  and  learned  air,  <^  It  must  be  especially  observed,  that  this  speech 
is  made  l)y  Juliet  in  a  very  excited  and  elevated  state  of  mind,  absorbed  entirely 
with  the  hopes  of  possessing  Romeo,  and  of  gratifying  her  youthful  and  impetuous 
passion  for  him.  Full  of  impatient  feelings,  of  rapid  transitions  of  hope  and  fear, 
hope  of  enjoyment  and  fear  of  discovery,  strongly  excited  desires,  gay  voluptuous 
thoughts,  leading  to  wild  extravagant  fancies,  she  takes  up  with  the  first  image  and 
expression  that  presented  itself  most  forcibly,  till,  in  the  picture  of  '  cutting  Romeo 
into  little  stars,'  her  fancy  loses  itself  in  its  own  hurried  combinations,  and  gives 
unrestrained  scope  and  license  to  its  wanderings.  Under  these  circumstances,  it 
seems  to  me  the  verj'  characteristic  word  which  gives  its  effect  to  the  whole  passage, 
and  is  most  apt  and  beautiful  in  its  wild  expression  of  gaiety,  which  is  emblematic 
of  the  state  of  her  mind,  approaching,  as  she  then  believes,  to  the  consummation  of 
all  her  desires ;  and  at  length,  in  the  ardency  of  youth,  only  mentioning  her  doubts 
and  fears  one  moment,  in  order  to  forget  them  the  next. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  say,  that  the  word  '  runaway'  is  used  elsewhere  by  Sh. 
in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.  and  in  Mid.  //.  D.  I  have  somewhere  read,  that  a  passage  has 
been  discovered  in  some  poems,  in  which  Cupid  is  called  Runaway.  This  is  well ; 
but  I  do  not  feel  in  want  of  any  additional  support  to  convince  me  that  it  is  the  very 
identical  word  demanded, — that  it  sheds  a  pleasing  and  gay  light  which  colours  the 
whole  passage  with  its  proper  hue, — that  no  word  could  be  substituted  for  it  without 
deeply  impairing  the  poetical  truth ;  and  lastly,  that  Sh.  himself  placed  it  there. 

It  may  also  be  observed  that  this  interpretation  preserves  the  authentic  reading  of 
the  text — Runawayes,  whereas  many  of  the  conjectural  readings  render  it  neces- 
sary to  alter  it  to  Runaway,  a  license  not  without  sufficient  cause  to  be  admitted.  I 
therefore,  so  far  as  my  influence  extends,  cannot  agree  to  this  word  being  removed 
for  the  substitution  of  any  other  that  has  been  suggested,  or  for  any  reason  hitherto 
alleged. 

1.  It  is  a  word  much  more  commonly  in  use  in  Sh.'s  day  than  in  ours. 

2.  It  is  a  familiar,  playful,  fanciful  name,  suited  to  moments,  as  these,  of  pleasing 
excitement,  hurried  thought  and  joy. 

3.  It  is  the  English  translation  oi  fugitivus,  by  which  Cupid  is  as  well  known  as 
Jupiter  by  the  title  of  'The  Thunderer,'  Neptune  '  The  Trident  Bearer,'  Diana  '  The 
Huntress,'  &c.,  the  '  epitheton  perpetuum'  standing  for  the  '  nomen.' 

4.  It  is  an  epithet  applied  to  him  {fugitivo)  by  the  Italian  poets,  and  this  is  an 
Italian  story. 

5.  It  is  used  as  an  emblem,  in  which  his  history,  and  habits,  and  nature  are 
described. 

6.  Lastly,  it  is  the  word  established  in  the  text  of  all  the  old  editions, 

•  '  Only  our  love  hath  no  decay, 

Running,  it  never  rum  from  us  away.' — DoNlfK. 

'Yet,  shepherd,  what  is  love,  I  pray? 
It  is  a  thing  will  toan  away.' — England' t  Htlicon,  p.  qol 


RUNAWAY'S  EVES.  385 

Geo.  Lunt  {'Three  Eras  of  New  England,'  &c.,  Boston,  1857,  p.  258).  Now, 
in  order  to  explain  this  passage,  if  possible,  let  us  resolve  it  into  different  language, 
conveying  precisely  the  same  ideas  throughout ;  and  it  may  stand  thus :  Make  your 
best  haste,  O  swift  steeds  of  the  sun,  to  be  stalled  for  the  night,  at  the  mansion  of 
Phoebus,  in  the  West.  If  such  a  wagoner  as  Phaeton  once  of  old  was,  only  had  the 
reins,  he  would  put  you  to  your  mettle,  and,  under  the  whip,  would  you  dash  through 
heaven  to  your  place  of  rest,  and  bring  on  night  at  once.  Now,  let  it  be  so,  love- 
performing  Night !  Thus,  now,  as  then,  quickly  spread  thy  close  curtain  that  run- 
aways eyes  may  wink !  Such  be  the  speed !  Let  this  fiery  charioteer, — this  runaway 
wagoner, — this  Phaeton,  runaway  with  by  the  steeds  of  the  sun, — perform  the  same 
feat  now  (successfully), — forthwith  let  him  wink, — close  his  eyes — sleep — be  it  speed- 
ily, night, — that  under  its  shadow  Romeo  may — •  Leap  to  these  arms  untalked  of 
and  unseen.' 

This  I  conceive  to  have  been  the  course  of  thought  in  Sh.'s  mind.  The  metonomy 
in  the  last  line  constitutes  no  objection  to  this  explanation.  '  Unseen'  would  be  the 
ordinary  consequence  of  darkness,  and  so,  therefore,  would  be  '  untalked  of;'  and, 
*lthough  observation  in  the  natural  course  of  events  would  precede  discussion, — yet, 
for  poetical  purposes,  surely  nothing  can  be  more  common  than  such  a  reversal  of 
the  actual  '  order  of  their  going.'  The  word  '  wink'  of  course  is  used  for  sleep,  in 
the  common  sense  in  which  we  employ  it — e.g.,  I  have  not  slept  a  wink. 

And  although  I  do  not  conceive,  in  regard  to  this  or  to  any  other  passage  of  Sh., 
that  it  is  essential  for  us  to  make  it  as  precisely  and  consecutively  consequential  as 
the  propositions  of  a  syllogism,  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  be  objected  that,  whether 
Phoebus  or  Phaeton  drive  the  chariot  of  heaven  through  its  stages,  it  is  the  absence 
of  the  sun  which  causes  night, — and  that,  therefore,  in  the  order  of  nature  it  is  not 
logically  consecutive,  to  supplicate  Night  to  spread  her  curtain  in  order  that  the  eyes 
of  him  may  wink  whose  metaphorical  retirement  to  repose  is  simultaneous  and  coin- 
cident with  the  action  prayed  for,  and  who  is,  of  himself,  the  potential  cause  of  this 
very  effect  of  darkness,  yet,  figuratively  speaking,  and  in  reference  to  the  personifi- 
cation of  the  sun,  as  Phoebus  or  Phaeton,  it  was  sufficiently  so,  and  indeed  it  was 
strictly  accurate  for  the  poet  so  to  form  the  imagination  of  it,  and  so  to  beseech  Night 
to  draw  her  curtain  over  the  face  of  things,  after  Heaven's  charioteer  had  completed 
his  course  and  stabled  his  steeds ;  and  especially  as,  in  this  instance,  after  his  some- 
what breakneck  drive,  he  might,  not  unreasonably,  be  thought  in  need  of  his  natural 
rest. 

Although,  therefore,  in  conceiving  of  the  ordinary  succession  of  day  and  night, 
regarded  as  natural  events,  we  are  conscious  that  only  upon  the  winking  of  '  day's 
garish  eye'  does  night  ensue, — and  the  obvious  idea,  in  this  aspect  of  the  case,  is, 
not  that  the  winking  in  question  follows  upon  but  accompanies  the  coming  on  of 
night, — yet,  otherwise,  when  we  think  of  the  sun  as  Phoebus,  or,  as  in  this  instance, 
as  Phaeton,  driving  his  car  to  the  west  as  his  goal, — which  presents  the  image  of 
'  civil-suited  Night'  coming  forward  to  spread  her  close  curtain  behind  him,  only 
when  the  wagoner  has  arrived  at  his  wonted  mansion,  and  has  disappeared  within. 

The  observation  of  Heath,  therefore,  on  Warburton's  note,  though  literally  cor- 
rect, is  not  poetically  so.  In  fact,  Juliet  only  hints  at  greater  speed,  rather  than 
complains  of  the  tardiness  of  the  sun.  She  addresses  his  coursers  as  fiery-footed 
steeds ;  but  rapid  as  is  the  movement  of  these  flaming  horses,  still  she  would  be  glad 
to  hasten  their  speed.  The  regular  flight  of  time,  to  be  sure,  is  not  fast  enough  for 
Her  I  In  this  consists  the  incompleteness  and  therefore  the  fallacy  of  Warburton\ 
33  7. 


386  APPENDIX. 

rheory.  However  swiftly  the  sun, — Phoebus  himself, — fulfills  his  ordinary  coarse, 
under  his  government  the  procession  of  the  hours  is  uniform  and  orderly ;  and  the 
pace,  though  rapid,  subject  to  strict  guidance  and  control.  In  no  proper  sense,  con- 
sequently, can  the  sun  itself  be  demonstrated  a  •  runaway,'  and  ergo,  as  our  friend 
Launcelot  Gobbo  would  say,  Sh.  did  not  thus  offend  against  propriety  and  the  nature 
of  things.  But  upon  the  fancy  of  Juliet,  yearning  as  she  was  for  the  moment  when 
she  was  to  be  with  her  lover,  flashed  the  idea  of  that  irregular,  meteoric  race  through' 
the  skies  which  once  called  for  the  intervention  of  Jove's  dread  thunderbolt  to  slaj 
its  progress ;  and  if  the  unskillful  charioteer  on  this  occasion  were  not  a  '  runaway,* 
and,  par  excellence,  the  runaway,  in  this  special  connection  when  we  are  speaking 
of  the  flight  of  time,  and  seeking  to  accelerate  its  progress,  we  know  not  where  Sh. 
could  have  looked  for  so  fit  an  example ;  especially  when  this  runaway  sally  is  the 
very  subject  of  his  fancy;  and  its  chief  actor  is  the  very  agent  Juliet  instances,  and, 
we  presume,  is  wishing  for,  to  hasten  matters  to  the  conclusion  she  so  desired.  For 
in  her  fantastical  imagination  at  the  hint  of  the  name,  Phoebus  becomes  Phaeton ;  this 
idea  fills  her  mind,  and  she  thus  pursues  the  chain  of  thought. 

The  truth  is,  Warburton  is  the  only  one  of  the  Sh.  commentators  who  seems  to 
have  had  a  glimpse  of  the  poet's  idea  in  this  passage.  But  though  it  is  strange  that 
what  seems  so  obvious  should  not  have  occurred  to  a  scholar  like  himself,  apparently 
his  mind  was  not  of  a  sufficiently  poetical  texture  fully  to  apprehend  the  association 
of  thought  in  the  text.     Most  other  theories  seem  little  better  than  ingenious  trifling. 

The  whole  speech,  in  fact,  is  characteristically  girlish ,  love-sick,  extravagant, 
erratic,  Phaetonic.  We  must  not  here,  then,  require  Sh.  to  produce  in  detail  every 
minute  link  in  the  chain  of  his  earth-embracing  and  heaven-embracing  associa- 
tions, in  order  to  enable  inconsiderate  eyes  to  follow  the  flight  of  his  imagina- 
tion ;  and  he,  we  will  suppose,  imagined  us  capable  of  catching  some  flashes  of  his 
meaning  when  his  fancy  touched  into  being  those  seeming  wayward  and  intricate, 
but  still  ever  intermingling  and  harmonious,  shapes  of  light. 

Dyce  (ed.  l).  Mr.  Grant  WTiite  remarks  that  '"Rumor"  was  spelt  rumoure  in 
Sh.'s  day,  and  the  possessive  case  rutnoures,  of  course ;'  but  F,  is  directly  opposed  to 
such  a  conclusion ;  in  it  the  substantive  '  rumour,'  which  occurs  twenty-one  times,  IS 
ALWAYS  SPELT  either  '  rumour'  or  '  rumor,' — in  the  plural,  either  '  rumours'  or 
'  rumors.'  Nor  can  I  see  any  probability  that  '  rumour's,'  in  whatsoever  manner 
spelt,  should  have  been  mistaken  for  '  runnawayes.'  Besides,  though  writers  fre- 
quently make  mention  of  Rumour's  tongues  or  tongue  (so  our  author  in  the  Induc- 
tion to  2  Hen.  IV,  'From  Rumour's  tongues^  &c.,  and  in  King  John  IV,  ii,  123, 
'but  this  from  rumovr's  tongue  I  idly  heard,  &c.),  they  never,  I  believe,  allude  to 
Rumour's  eyes  except  when  they  are  describing  that  personage  in  detail. 

In  my  'Remarks,'  &c.,  I  offered  two  restorations;  and  in  my  'Few  Notes'  &c.,  I 
started  a  third  one.  (Compare  '  Saucie  roauing  eye,  \Vhat  whisperst  in  my  brain 
that  she  is  faire?' — Heywood's  2  King  Edw.  IV,  1605.)  The  first  of  these  I  have 
now  inserted  in  the  text,  and  I  have  given  it  the  preference  to  all  the  other  readings 
yet  proposed,  not  from  any  overweening  fondness  for  my  own  conjecture,  but  because 
it  comes  indisputably  nearest  to  the  ductus  literarum  of  the  old  corruption.  I  must 
not  omit  to  add  that  it  also  occurred  to  a  gentleman,  who,  not  aware  that  it  was 
already  in  print,  communicated  it  to  'Notes  and  Queries'  for  Sept.  1853,  p.  216.  Mr. 
Mitford,  indeed,  objects  to  it  that  ' "  Day's  eyes"  would  wink  whether  the  night  was 
cloudy  or  clear;  so  the  force  of  "  cloudy"  would  be  lost  by  this  reading,' — an  objection 
which  can  ies  no  weight,  for  the  present  address  to  Night  is  certainly  to  be  consid- 


JiC/NAlVAV'S  EVES.  387 

eied  as  distinct  from  the  lines  which  precede  it.  Again,  Mr.  Grant  Wliile  is  of 
opinion  that  '  all  the  suggestions,  except  /humor's,  fail  to  meet  the  demands  of  the 
context,  "unia/i'd  of  and  unseen."  '  But  I  do  not  allow  that  such  is  the  case  with 
•  rude  days  eyes;'  for  poetry  represents  Day  as  an  officious  intelligencer;  and  when 
once  her  eyes  were  closed,  Romeo  would  come  to  Juliet  '  untalk'd  of,'  as  well  as 
unseen,  by  the  citizens  of  Verona. 

The  passages  in  our  early  poets  about  Night  spreading  her  curtains,  and  Day 
closing  her  eyes,  are  numerous;  so  in  Drayton,  Baron's  IVarres  [cited  p.  369]. 
(This  stanza  goes  far  to  support  the  reading  '  rude  day's  eyes'.)  Nor  ought  any  one 
to  urge  against  the  reading,  '  That  rude  day's  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo^  &c.,  that 
it  makes  Romeo  a  trisyllable,  while  afterwards  in  this  speech  that  name  occurs  as  a 
dissyllable ;  for  elsewhere  we  find  ^ Romeo'  used  both  as  a  dissyllable  and  a  trisyllable 
in  the  same  speech.  So  in  III,  i,  145,  146,  Romeo  is  a  dissyllable;  in  157,  a  trisyl- 
lable; in  163,  a  trisyllable;  in  167,  a  dissyllable.  In  III,  iii,  138,  a  trisyllable;  in 
140,  a  dissyllable.    In  IV,  iii,  27,  35,  a  dissyllable;  in  31,  a  trisyllable. 

Mary  C.  Clarke  ('jV.  and  Q.,'  2d  sen,  vol.  v,  p.  270,  1858).  «  Runnawayes'  has 
by  all  the  commentators  been  pronounced  to  be  a  misprint,  although  by  a  forced  and 
far-fetched  interpretation  it  might  be  supposed  to  refer  to  the  '  fiery-footed  steeds,'  the 
horses  of  the  sun  alluded  to  in  the  first  line  of  Juliet's  speech.  The  reading  which 
has  struck  me  is, '  That  sunny  day's  eyes,'  &c.  This  would  give  the  same  rhythm  as  the 
old  editions.  It  is  nearest  both  in  sound  and  appearance  to  '  run-awayes' — sound, 
if  the  transcriber  from  stage  delivery  made  a  mistake  of  ear;  appearance,  if  the 
printer  made  a  mistake  of  sight.  The  epithet  '  sunny,'  as  applied  to  day,  forms  an 
antithesis  with  the  epithet  '  cloudy'  as  applied  to  night.  '  Sunny'  also  involves  the 
effect  of  glare,  which  suggests  the  verb  to  •  wink.'  And,  moreover,  the  impersona- 
tion of  day,  with  its  light  and  its  sunshine,  accords  with  the  tenour  of  the  speech 
throughout,  which  deprecates  all  three,  while  invoking  night  and  its  opposite  attri- 
butes. To  conclude,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  '  sunny-days,'  as  taken  in  connec- 
tion with  the  whole  speech,  is  most  in  the  manner  of  Sh.,  who  (especially  in  his 
earlier  plays,  one  of  which  Rom.  &  Jul.  is  supposed  to  be)  has  shown  fondness  for 
the  poetical  conceit,  with  antithetical  style,  maintained  through  entire  passages. 

Coll.  (ed.  2).  There  have  certainly  been  more  suggestions  than  there  are  letters 
In  this  word.  It  is  generally  admitted  that  run-awayes  must  be  wrong.  From 
whom  does  Juliet  wish  that  her  proceedings  with  Romeo  should  be  concealed  ? 
From  the  members  of  the  two  hostile  families — their  '  enemies ;'  and  this  word  is 
inserted  by  the  (MS.),  where  it  is  spelt  enemy es  :  if  it  had  been  spelt  ennemyes,  as  it 
was  then  sometimes  written,  the  misprint  would  have  appeared  more  easy.  We  are 
satisfied  that  '  enemies'  is  the  language  of  Sh.  not  merely  because  it  is  found  in  the 
(MS.),  but  because  it  is  the  very  word  required  in  the  place.  Nearly  every  com- 
mentator has  broached  his  own  conjecture,  some  of  them  so  unfortunate  that  it 
seemed  an  exertion  of  at  least  equal  courage  and  ingenuity  to  produce  them.  We 
were  formerly  in  favour  of  Jackson's  unawares,  which  certainly  comes  nearest  to 
the  letters,  but  the  claims  of  '  enemies,'  suiting  as  it  does  both  meaning  and  measure, 
and  reaching  us  on  the  authority  of  the  (MS.),  seem  to  us  superior  to  all  others. 

Walker.    Read  Cynthia's.*    Cinthiaes — runawaies.     Possibly,  indeed,  the  word 


•  Lettsom  (^Foot  note  to  Walker's  note).  Was  Middleton  thinking  of  this  passage  in  wiring  Blurt, 
Master  Constable,  iii,  i,  ad  fin.  t  [cited  by  Staunton,  p.  381].  Since  writing  the  above  I  have  seen  thai 
Mr.  Staunton  has  quoted  the  passage  from  Middleton  to  s  -.iw  that  the  moon  may  be  meant  by  not 


388  APPENDIX. 

may  hav»  oeen  written  by  mistake  without  a  capital,  cinthiaei ;  as  in  Tam.  the 
S'u'ew,  II,  i,  351,  '  My  hangings  all  of  Tynan  tapestry,'  the  folio  has  tirian  (thDugh 
this  sort  of  a<p&7.fia  is  rare) ;  which  would  render  the  error  more  easy.  This  passage 
in  Pericles,  quoted  by  the  writer  in  the  Gent.  Mag.  for  1845,  might  have  led  him  to 
the  true  reading.     [See  p.  370.] 

MoMMSEN  {'Proiegomena,'  p.  1 23,  1859).  That  this  word  is  corrupt  is  manifest  in 
many  ways  :  it  is  not  only  injurious  to  the  sense,  but  is  intelligible  only  at  the  best 
by  a  very  strained  explanation.  In  none  of  the  interpretations  and  conjectures,* 
made  though  they  be  with  no  little  labour  and  acuteness,  have  I  any  faith  except 
in  enemies  of  Coll.  (MS.),  which,  both  for  the  requirements  of  sense  and  rhythm,  is 
equally  beautiful,  and  which  corresponds  in  ihe  most  noteworthy  way  with  the  fol- 
lowing words  of  Spenser — words  undoubtedly  floating  through  the  mind  of  the  poet, 
and  tripping  on  all  tongues  since  1595  : 

'  Now  welcome  Night  I  thou  Night  so  long  expected,  .... 
Spread  thy  broad  wing  over  my  Love  and  me 
That  no  man  may  us  see.'  (Epithalam.  319.)  t 

In  my  opinion  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  must  read  '  enemies'  eyes,'  and  it  is 
none  the  worse  that  it  is  more  simple. 

Grant  White  (i86i).  No  one  of  the  many  emendations  that  have  been  proposed 
ever  elicited  my  spontaneous  recognition,  and  the  best  of  them  have  equally  failed 
to  satisfy  my  deliberate  judgment.  The  efforts  to  explain  the  passage  as  it  stands 
are,  with  perhaps  one  exception,  hardly  less  unsatisfactory.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  true  view  of  the  passage  was  taken  by  the  first  editor  who  examined  it — 
Warburton.  To  Heath's  much-approved  censure  of  this  explanation,  the  conclusive 
reply  is,  that  the  previous  address  to  the  horses  of  the  sun  would  naturally  suggest 
an  allusion  to  the  sun  himself  in  this  invocation,  which  is  to  Night;  and  that  the 
fact  that  the  sun  is  necessarily  absent  as  soon  as  night  begins  is  the  very  reason 
why  yuliet^  if  she  desired  his  absence,  actual  or  potential,  should  invoke  night's 
presence. 

But  there  are  other  reasons  than  those  suggested  by  Warburton  for  believing  that 
Phoebus  is  the  runaway  meant  by  yuliet.  For  this  closing  of  the  eyes  of  watchful, 
babbling  day — typified  by  the  god  of  day — would  completely  satisfy  yuliet'' s  earnest 
wish  that  Romeo  might  come  to  her  •  untalked  of  and  unseen.'  She  begs  Night  to 
spread  her  curtains  that  sleep  may  fall  upon  the  eyes  of  day — a  fancy  not  uncommon 
with  the  poets.  See,  for  instance,  this  passage  from  Drayton's  Barons  Warres  : 
[See  Dyce's  note,  p.  369.  Ed.].    That  'wink'  was  commonly  used  when  Sh.  wrote, 

»way.  My  notion  was,  and  is,  that  Middleton  read  Cynthia's  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  framed  hii 
imitation  accordingly. 

•  The  American,  Richard  Grant  White,  has  devoted  more  than  fourteen  octavo  pages  to  the  emen- 
dation of  this  passage.  But  however  valuable  many  of  his  objections  to  other  conjectures  may  be,  hij 
own  Rumour's  (which  Heath  also  had  made)  is  neither  rhythmically  so  tolerable  as  the  syncopated 
tnemi-.s  with  its  fine  strong  arsis,  nor  even  probable  according  to  the  ductus  literarum  {diplom^ititcK), 
since  words  in  or  Sh.  never  wrote  oure^  therefore  the  misprint  runawayes  cannot  by  any  means  resem- 
ble rumoures.  The  other  conjectures  there  made  rumourous  or  rumourers'  would  all  be  more  plausi- 
ble than  Rumour's.  I  notice  that  Dyce  has  made  the  same  objection  to  Rumour ;  but  Dyce's  own 
conjecture,  rude  day's,  is  not,  phonetically,  nearly  as  pleasing  as  Collier's  (MS.).  The  reminiscenct 
from  Spenser  (which  no  one  seems  to  have  noticed)  is  also  opposed  to  it 

t  See  the  further  development  of  this  reference  in  my  article :  Die  Kunst  des  deutschen  Uebersetx- 
tn,  u.  1.  w.  I.eipzig,  Gumprecht,  1858,  p.  33,  34.  When  I  wrote  it  (1855)  I  had  not  yet  seen  O 
>^ite's  Noti  with  which  I  coincide  in  the  refutation  of  Halpin. 


RUNAWAY'S  EVES.  389 

(as,  indeed,  it  is  even  now,)  to  mean  sleep,  is  so  well  known  as  to  make  citations  in 
support  ijf  that  use  of  it  seem  quite  superfluous.   But  here  are  two  passages  in  point  ; 

'  When  most  I  wink  then  do  my  eyes  best  see ; 
For  all  the  day  they  view  things  unrespected, 
Rit  when  I  sleep,  in  dreams  they  look  on  thee.' — Sonnets,  xliiL 

'But  this  I  am  stire,  that  Euphues  conclusion  was  this,  betweene  waking  and  winking,  &c  .  .  . 
And  thus  they  with  long  talking  waxed  weary,  where  I  leave  them,  not  willing  to  talke  any  longer,  but 
to  sleepe  their  fils  till  morning.' — Euphues  and  his  England,  Sig.  v,  ed.  1597. 

There  is,  however,  yet  another  reason,  equally  cogent  with  any  of  the  foregoing, 
and  of  a  very  different  nature,  for  believing  that  Phoebus  is  the  runaway  upon  whose 
eyes  yuliet  wishes  the  blindness  of  silence-bringing  sleep  to  fall ;  and  this  is  found 
in  the  traces  left  of  the  augmentation  and  correction  of  the  play  before  the  printing 
of  Qj.  For  in  (QJ  this  invocation  to  Night  does  not  appear,  only  the  brief  address 
to  Phoebus's  steeds  with  the  allusion  to  cloudy  Night  in  the  last  line.  Now,  in  that 
version  Juliet  calls  upon  the  horses  of  the  sun  to  hasten  to  '  Phoebus  mansion  ;' 
but  with  the  addition  of  the  invocation  to  Night,  and  the  promptly-uttered  wish  that 
the  eyes  of  Day  should  close  in  sleep  upon  the  spreading  of  her  curtains,  we  find 
'  Phoebus  mansion'  changed  to  '  Phoebus  lodging,' — a  variation  so  delicate,  an  adapta- 
tion of  the  old  fancy  to  the  new  so  felicitous,  the  introduction  of  a  leading  thought 
so  subtle  and  yet  so  clear  in  purpose,  that  to  believe  it  accidental  would  derogate 
too  much  from  Sh.'s  skill,  and  tax  too  far  the  stretch  of  our  credulity.  And  that  the 
invocation  to  Night  was  not  accidentally  omitted  from  (Q,),  but  was  an  addition  to 
the  first  version  of  the  tragedy,  seems  very  clear,  because  both  in  Brooke's  poem  and 
Paynter's  prose  tale,  which  Sh.  so  closely  followed,  there  are  the  following  allusions 
to  that  lover's  desire  for  the  quick  setting  of  the  sun  and  the  spreading  of  night's 
shadow  which  the  four  lines  of  Juliet's  speech  found  in  (Qj)  so  fully  express : 

'  So  that  I  deeme,  if  they  might  have  (as  of  Alcume  we  heare) 
The  sun  bond  to  theyr  will,  if  they  the  heavens  might  gyde. 
Black  shade  of  night  and  doubled  dark  should  straight  all  over  hyde.' — 

Rotneus  and  yuliet,  ed.  Collier,  p.  39. 

• for  every  minute  of  an  hour  seemed  to  them  a  thousande  yeares,  so  that  if  they  had  power  to 

commaund  the  heauens  (as  losua  did  the  sunne),  the  earth  had  incontinently  bene  shadowed  wytl 
darkest  cloudes.' — Palace  of  Pleasure,  ed.  Hazlewood,  vol.  ii,  p.  360. 

And  again  in  the  morning : 

'The  hastiness  of  Phoebus'  steeds  in  great  despyte  they  blame.' 

Rotneus  and  yuliet,  ed.  Collier,  p.  31. 

But  m  neither  poem  nor  tale  is  there  germ  of  the  impassioned  invocation  to  Night 
which  first  appeared  in  the  '  augmented'  Q^. 

Nevertheless,  the  designation  of  Phoebus,  or  any  other  god  or  person,  as  runaway, 
absolutely,  and  without  any  defining  article,  is  so  abrupt  and  strange  that  it  is  not 
surprising  that  efforts  have  been  made  to  find  another  meaning  for  the  passage.  The 
most  plausible  of  the  many  suggestions  which  have  been  made  are — the  Rev.  Mr. 
Halpin's;  Mr.  Robert  Messinger's,  of  New  York  (in  a  letter  to  me),  that  'run- 
aways' means  '  those  who  run  in  the  way,  runagates,  vagabonds ;'  and  Douce's.  The 
second  of  these  explanations  might  perhaps  be  worthier  of  consideration,  were  it  not 
for  the  facts  that,  at  the  period  when  this  tragedy  was  written,  '  runaway'  appears  to 
have  been  used  only  to  mean  one  who  ran  away,  and  that '  runagate,'  which  had  the 
same  meaning  thtn  that  it  has  now,  would  have  suited  the  verse  quite  as  well  as 
'runaway;'  while  Douce's,  although  it  suggests  the  view  which  Juliet  would  b» 
XX  * 


390  APPENDIX. 

likely  to  take  of  her  position  •owards  her  parents,  is  entirely  inconsistent  with  the 
passionful  longing  which  this  soliloquy  expresses  with  such  a  singular  union  of  direct- 
ness and  modesty,  and  which  is  its  informing  motive.  For,  as  we  have  seen, '  wink' 
in  this  passage  means  (and  in  fact,  as  the  winking  was  to  be  the  consequence  nf  the 
spreading  of  night's  close  curtains,  it  can  only  mean)  sleep;  and  that  Juliet  should 
desire  either  Romeo  or  herself  to  be  asleep  at  the  time  when  she  wishes  that  run- 
away's eyes  may  wink,  is  a  supposition  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 

Eugene  J.  Brady  {^N.  and  Q.,^  2d  series,  vol.  xii,  p.  85,  1861).  I  have  just  dis- 
covered the  original  reading  of  this  passage.  Juliet  invokes  Night  instantly  to  come, 
that  the  sun  may  be  compelled  to  close  his  eyes.  The  poet's  words  were  certainly 
these  :  '  sun-awake's  eyes.' 

F.  A.  Leo  {'N.  and  Q.,'  3d  ser.,  vol.  i,  p.  363,  1862).  The  Sh.  scholars  of  three 
centuries  have  published  so  many  more  or  less  ingenious  notes  about  Juliet's  run- 
aivay,  and  yet  the  question  is  so  far  from  getting  a  right  answer,  that  it  will  do  no 
narm  to  any  one  if  a  very  little  and  modest  note  tries  to  give  it ; — probably  with  the 
same  effect  as  the  other  notes  did.  If  we  take  in  view,  the  four  last  letters  of  '  run- 
awayes'  are  nearly  the  same  as  the  letters  of  the  next  word,  '  eyes,'  it  will  not  be 
throughout  unjustified  to  suppose  that  the  repetition  of  these  four  letters  (for  a  and  e 
are  very  easily  changed)  results  from  an  error  of  the  compositor;  and  that  the  real 
word  in  question,  or  rather  the  mutilated  word  only,  is  •  runnawayes,'  and  not '  run- 
nawayes  eyes.'  Now,  in  reading  Juliet's  soliloquy  we  find  that  she  wants  not  merely 
'  night,'  but  quite  directly  '  cloudy'  night ;'  she  is  of  opinion  that  •  Lx)vers  can  see  to 
do  their  amorous  rites  By  their  own  beauties.'     She  calls  the  night  a  '  Sober-suited 

matron,  all  in  black'  and  a  ' black-browed  night.'     In  short,  she  wants  all  as 

dark  as  possible,  and  probably  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  inquisitive,  importu- 
nate, and  prating  moonlight.  The  '  close  curtain'  therefore  are,  as  I  suppose,  the 
clouds,  which  shall  make  wink  the  moon's  eyes ;  and  Juliet  says :  •  Spread  thy  close 
curtain,  love-performing  night'  (and  then  lifting  up  her  hand  to  the  moon  and  the 
stars),  '  That  yonder  eyes  may  wink.'  If  we  now  remember  that  the  Qq  generally 
are  published  after  some  short-hand  writing, — that,  as  Collier  says,  '  The  person  or 
persons  who  prepared  the  transcripts  of  the  plays  for  the  printer,  wrote  by  the  ear 
and  not  by  the  eye  :  they  heard  the  dialogue  and  wrote  it  down  as  it  struck  them,' — 
the  difference  in  some  of  the  letters  in  the  two  words 

runnawayesy 
yondereyes, 

will  not  be  of  any  importance ;  if  we  state  the  possibility  that  one  could  believe  to 
hear  pronounced  '  runnawayes,'  while  the  other  said  '  yonder  eyes.'  (It  is  not  to  be 
forgotten  that  many  Englishmen  pronounce  w  instead  of  r — gweat  for  great .')  For 
the  rest  let  me  say,  without  laying  a  great  stress  on  it,  that  Sh.  twice  in  Horn,  and 
Jul.  uses  the  word  '  yonder*  with  regard  to  the  moon  and  to  the  heaven,  for  '  by 
yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear.' 

One  word  more  for  those  who  mean  that  the  sun  is  not  yet  gone :  And  that  Juliet, 
•Jierefore,  cannot  lift  up  her  hand  to  the  moon.  Well !  she  lifts  up  her  hand  to  the 
cause  of  light,  may  that  be  the  sun  or  the  moon,  and  '  yonder  eyes'  is  an  epithet 
quite  as  fit  for  the  one  as  for  the  other.  But  it  is  to  be  undcrsteod  that,  if  Juliet 
speaks  of  the  sun's  eyes,  the  '  close  curtain'  can  be  as  well  (and  even  better)  the 
iarkness  as  the  clouds. 

And  now  let  it  go.  You  conceive  that  I  believe  my  emendation  to  be  the  best, 
for  else  I  would  not  have  published  it ;  but  that  is  not  enough,  and  I  am  exceedingly 


JiCrjVAlVAV'S    EVES.  391 

desirous  to  know  whether  the  authorities  of  Sh.  criticism  laugh  at  my  notes  or  accept 
ks  contents. 

Stylites  {'N'.  and  Qu.^  3d  sen,  vol.  ii,  p.  92,  1862).  It  is  impossible  not  to  be 
struck  with  the  ingenuity  of  Mr.  Leo's  suggestion ;  but  I  would  remark  that  if  the 
'  eyes'  of  which  Juliet  speaks  are  to  be  referred  to  the  sun,  there  is  no  need  of  any 
alteration  of  the  received  text,  a  liberty  always  to  be  avoided  as  much  as  possible.  .  .  . 
Now,  if  Sh.  calls  night  (in  Mer.  of  Ven.,  II,  vi,  47)  a  'runaway'  in  reference  to 
approaching  day,  he  may  well  make  Juliet  call  day,  or  the  sun,  a  '  run  away'  in 
reference  to  approaching  night.  But  I  confess  to  have  always  doubted  whether  any 
metaphor  was  ever  intended  here,  and  whether  '  runaways'  is  not  the  genitive //wra/, 
and  does  not  allude  to  mischievous  spies.  In  London  it  was  common  enough, 
formerly,  before  the  establishment  of  the  police  force,  for  young  lads  (the  Parisians 
would  call  them  gamins)  to  knock  at  a  street  door,  or  tie  a  cat  or  dog  to  the  knocker, 
and  make  their  escape  after  having  enjoyed  the  astonishment  of  the  servant.  These 
boys  were  called  '  runaways,'  and  the  servant  would  call  their  exploit  '  a  runaway's 
knock.'  I  have  been  told  that  in  some  country  neighborhoods  boys  of  a  similar 
character  are  fond  of  spying  out  sweethearts'  assignations  and  playing  a  very  unwel- 
come third  at  their  meetings,  darting  upon  them  at  the  most  inopportune  moments, 
and  running  away  to  avoid  the  vengeance  of  the  disappointed  swain.  If  such  a 
practice  prevailed  at  Stratford  in  Sh.'s  time,  he  was  quite  capable  of  transferring  it 
to  Italy,  and  of  representing  Juliet  as  fearful  that  her  lover's  steps  might  be  watched 
by  these  troublesome  urchins  and  traced  to  her  door, 

Halliwell.  This  passage  in  the  soliloquy  of  Juliet,  in  which  her  unlimited  pas- 
sion resolves  itself  into  a  storm  of  rapture,  deserves  to  be  viewed  through  this  special 
position — that  Love  is  blind,  and  that  Cupid  himself  would  blush  did  lovers  see  'the 
pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit.'  So  thought  Jessica,  when  attired  in  the  cos- 
tume of  the  other  sex,  and  Juliet's  ardent  and  tumultuous  expression  of  affection 
must  be  referred  to  a  somewhat  more  obscure  delineation  of  the  same  belief.  The 
prayer  of  the  lover  is  for  secresy  and  rapidity,  secresy  during  the  celebration  of  their 
rites,  and  the  speedy  approach  of  night  to  overshadow  the  eyes  of  Love.  Her 
desire  is  for  the  departure  of  day — '  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately ;'  for  con 
cealment,  only  a  secondary  wish — '  Spread  thy  close  curtains,  love-perfoi-ming  night.' 
But  why  ?  There  can  only  be  one  answer, — that  the  eyes  of  the  god  of  Love  may 
be  closed,  and  Romeo  reach  his  love  '  untalked  of  and  unseen.'  Lovers  can  see  by 
their  own  beauties,  or,  if  Love  be  blind,  '  It  best  agrees  with  night.'  The  '  strange 
love,'  afterwards  mentioned,  is  the  generic  idea,  not  the  divinity  here  intended.  Run- 
away was  a  common  pet  name  for  Cupid,  and  the  authenticity  of  the  word  is  beyond 
all  doubt,  and  not  one  of  the  conjectural  emendations  can  be  adopted  without  de 
stroying  the  poetical  beauty  of  the  passage  in  which  it  occurs.  But  it  could  be  sub 
stantiated  by  a  reductio  ad  absurdum,  for  suppose  that  night,  or  Juliet,  be  intended 
and  we  at  once  arrive  at  an  impossibility,  or,  to  say  the  least,  at  a  foolish  tautology, 
Let  night  spread  her  close  curtains  that  night  may  sleep  and  Romeo  find  his  Juliet 
Where  is  there  in  this  the  congruity  so  invariably  observed  by  Sh.  in  similar  flights 
of  his  luxuriant  fancy?  The  conjecture  that  Juliet  is  the  Runaway  implies  a  still 
greater  absurdity,  no  less  than  that  of  her  desiring  to  slumber  at  the  very  time  of  the 
approach  of  what  she  so  eagerly  desires. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  Rev.  W.  R.  Arrowsmith,  after  alluding  to  '  the  prodigious 
guesses  at  a  substitute  for  "runaways"  and  the  extravagant  speculations  touching  the 
persons  to  whom  it  refers,'  writes  thus :  '  It  is  supposed  that  to  wink  means  only  to 


392  APPEXDIX. 

fotinive;  whereas,  besides  this  its  stricter  sense,  it  also  often  signihes  to  close  the  eye* 
in  sleep,  in  sound  sleep.  But  however  that  may  be,  whether  ignorance  of  such 
usage  be  at  the  bottom  of  their  trouble  with  the  recorded  text  or  not,  I  defy  the 
queasiest  objector  of  them  all  to  produce  one  solid  reason  for  questioning  the  pro- 
priety of  Sh.'s  expressing  the  desired  secresy  of  Romeo's  visit  by  the  darkness, 
under  cover  of  which  runaways,  i.  e.,  fugitives,  may  sleep  secure  from  surprise,  that 
shall  not  tell  with  equal  force  against  the  propriety  of  his  expressing  the  quickness 
of  a  lover's  hearing,  by  what  is  inaudible  to  the  "suspicious  head  of  theft"  (Love's 
L.  L.,  IV,  iii,  336).  The  conditions  of  secresy  in  that  case,  and  of  silence  in  this, 
could  not  be  exemplified  by  instances  more  happy  in  themselves,  or  more  nearly 
allied  to  each  other.' —  T/te  Editor  of  'Notes  and  Queries'  and  his  friend  Mr 
Singer,  &c.,  p.  II. — I  have  only  to  add  that  my  conviction  of  '  runnawayes'  being  a 
gross  corruption  remains  unshaken. 

Knight  (ed.  2)  gives  the  substance  of  his  note  in  (ed.  l),  except  that  he  does  not 
say  that  Zachary  Jackson  'set  the  matter  straight.'  He  also  states  that  Mr.  Collier 
adopted  Zachary  Jackson's  emendation,  and  then  quotes  Dyce's  objection  thereto 
and  adds:  There  is  much  force  in  this  objection.  One  more  conjecture:  change  a 
letter,  and  put  a  comma  instead  of  the  genitive  j  .•  *  That  sun  away,'  &c. 

Cartwright  {^New  Readings  of  SA.'  &c.,  p.  32,  Lond.,  1866).  Read  no  man's 
and  />ee/>.  '  Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark.'  The  old  eds.  have 
runnawayes  and  weep  ;  the  main  error  seems  to  lie  in  the  repetition  of  eyes, — '  ayes 
eyes ;'  perhaps  the  word  was  accidentally  repeated  in  the  MS.,  and  hence  the 
corruption. 

Massey  ['Shakespeare's  Sonnets'  p.  601,  1866).  To  my  thinking,  the  old  read- 
ing, with  Juliet  as  Runaway,  is  a  most  golden  one;  subtly  Shakespearian;  the 
passage,  poetically,  playfully  perfect.  Juliet  is  the  Runaway !  She  has  run  away 
from  the  parental  authority  and  from  her  duty  as  a  daughter.  She  has  run  away 
from  the  arms  of  father  and  mother  to  the  bosom  of  her  lover.  She  has  run  away  to 
be  secretly  married,  and  is  now  wailing  to  run  into  the  embrace  of  her  husband.  No 
word  could  be  more  characteristic  than  this  when  applied  by  Juliet  to  herself.  '  Rude 
day's  eyes'  may  easily  be  shown  to  be  an  impossible  reading.  Juliet  would  not  wish 
the  eyes  of  day  to  wink  if  she  wanted  them  to  close  altogether.  Besides,  the  closing 
of  day's  eyes  would  of  course  be  included  in  the  coming  of  night,  and  it  is  not 
Sh.'s  habit  to  state  that  which  is  already  implied.  This  rejection  of  Juliet  as  '  Run- 
away,' and  the  vulgar  public  appeal  to  day,  &c.,  show  that  the  critics  have  totally 
misapprehended  the  whole  speech,  and  grossly  misinterpreted  the  character  of  the 
speaker.  They  have  assumed  that  the  sole  incentive  of  this  appeal  for  night  to  come 
was  Juliet's  eagerness  for  the  perfecting  of  her  marriage.  It  is  not  so.  That  would 
m.ike  of  Juliet  a  forward  wanton,  and  of  her  speech  an  invocation  most  immodest, 
whereas  her  appeal  to  Night  is  for  protection,  for  its  darkness  to  drop  a  veil  that  will, 
as  it  were,  hide  her  from  herself.  She  is  naturally  desirous  for  Romeo's  coming,  but 
her  great  anxiety  for  the  night's  coming  is  the  sensitiveness  of  modesty.  The  appeal 
is  for  Night  to  curtain  round  the  bridal  bed,  for  the  Night  to  teach  her  how  to  lose  a 
winning  match,  for  the  Night  to  '  hood  her  unmann'd  blood'  as  the  eyes  of  the 
falcon  are  covered  up.  This  is  the  governing  thought  of  the  speech,  therefore  it  was 
of  the  first  dramatic  necessity  that  an  early  cue  should  be  given.  And  so,  after  the 
6rst  passionate  outburst,  the  Poet  makes  Juliet  wish  the  Night  to  come,  Ma/  her  eyes 
may  'wink,' — j.  e.,  may  be  bashfully  veiled  in  the  shadow  of  the  darkness,  so  that  she 
cas  modestly  countenance  her  '-usband's  coming.     The  critics  would  deprive  the 


J?C/,yAlVAV'S  EVES.  393 

«\)€ech  of  its  mood  indicative,  the  character  of  a  suggestion  which  was  meant  to 
guard  it,  a  thought  that  acts  like  a  bridal  veil — a  touch  that  gives  to  the  invocation 
the  tint  of  virgin  crimson,  without  which  the  speech  would  be  positively  barefaced. 
They  have  been  looking  too  outwardly;  dwelling  too  much  on  the  assumed  context 
of  night  and  day,  and  have  missed  the  dramatic  motive  and  the  more  precious  per- 
sonal context.  Juliet  was  not  looking  quite  so  much  abroad  as  they  have  been;  her 
thought  was  more  inward  and  had  a  more  private  appropriateness ;  her  feeling  is 
altogether  more  maidenly  than  has  been  supposed.  Other  reasons  and  illustra- 
tions might  be  adduced  to  show  that  the  old  eds.  have  given  us  Sh.'s  meaning,  which 
cannot  be  mended.  After  what  the  Nurse  tells  us  of  her  young  Lady's  pleasant 
conceit  in  coupling  the  names  of  '  Rosemary'  and  '  Romeo,'  it  is  very  characteristic 
for  Juliet  to  match  the  names  of  Runaway  and  Romeo  in  loving  alliteration.  Also, 
the  coupling  of  her  name  in  some  shape  or  other  with  '  Romeo,'  in  the  lines  quoted, 
is  of  infinitely  the  greater  necessity.  She  wants  the  night  to  fold  in  the  pair  of 
lovers,  and  would  not  leave  herself  out.  The  '  a«^  Romeo'  is,  of  itself,  sufficient  to 
tell  us  that  Runaway  must  be  Juliet.  Lastly,  to  come  to  that  surface  comparison, 
beyond  which  the  critics  have  so  seldom  gone  for  illustrations,  the  thought  in  the 
Poet's  mind  respecting  maiden  modesty  winking  at  marriage  may  be  proved  conclu- 
sively by  reference  to  the  play  of  Hen.  V :  V,  ii,  422 : 

'Bur.  Can  you  blame  her  then,  being  a  maid  yet  rosed  over  with  the  virgin  crimson  of  modesty. 

if  she  deny  the  appearance  of"  a  naked  blind  boy? 

K.  Hen.  Yet  they  do  wink  and  yield,  as  love  is  blind  and  enforces  .  .  .  Then  good  my  lord,  teach 
your  cousin  to  consent  winking.^ 

Here  is  a  sufficient  exemplification  of  Sh.'s  meaning  in  making  the  appeal  for 
night  to  come,  that  Juliet's  (the  naughty  Runaway's)  eyes  may  wink  under  the  cover 
of  its  darkness,  as  well  as  Romeo's  visit  be  perfectly  secret. 

Keightley  {'Expositor,^  1867).  The  'rude  days'  of  Dyce  seems  to  me  to  be  too 
young-ladyish  for  the  ardent  and  naive  Juliet ;  and  moreover,  she  had  already  called 
for  the  winking  of  day's  eye,  i.  e.,  for  sunset.  Some  sense  might  also  be  made  of 
runagates,  as  persons  wandering  about  by  night ;  and  still  better  of  runabouts,  a 
word  used  by  Marston  (WTiat  you  Will,  in,i),  and  which  I  have  placed  in  the  text, 
as  making  tolerable  sense  and  bearing  resemblance  to  'runaways.'  Singer  read 
rumourers,  against  which  little  objection  can  be  made.  My  own  opinion,  to  which 
I  was  led  by  Singer's  reading,  and  in  which  I  find  I  had  been  anticipated  by  Heath 
and  Grant  White,  is  that  the  poet's  word  may  have  been  Humour's.  In  the  poem 
on  which  this  play  is  founded,  Juliet,  when  pondering  before  her  marriage  on  what 
might  be  the  consequence  of  admitting  Romeo  to  a  lover's  privilege,  says :  *  So  I 
defiled.  Report  shall  take  her  trump  of  black  defame,'  &c.  Now  Sh.  may  have 
wished  to  preserve  this  imagery,  and  have  substituted  Rumour  for  Report  for  eupho- 
ny's sake  and  other  causes.  Rumour,  in  effect,  seems  to  have  been  the  same  as  the 
classic  Fame.  In  Sir  Clyomen  and  Sir  Clamydes,  a  piece  with  which  he  was 
probably  well  acquainted,  we  meet  '  Enter  Rumour  running,'  and  this  may  have 
been  in  his  mind  when  he  was  writing  the  Induction  to  2  Hen.  IV.  In  his  other 
plavs,  also,  he  personifies  both  rumour  and  report,  as  in  All's  Well,  III,  it,  130-132. 
He  5>ay  also  have  had  these  lines  of  Phaer's  Virgil  in  his  mind : 

'At  night  she  [Fame]  walks,  nor  slumber  sweet  doth  take,  nor  never  sleeps 
By  day  on  houses'  tops  she  sits,  and  gates  or  towers  she  keeps, 
On  watching-towers  she  climbs,  and  cities  great  she  makes  aghast. 
Both  truth  and  falsehood  forth  she  tells,  and  lies  abroad  doth  cast' 


394  APPENDIX. 

We  may,  then,  fancy  Juliet  to  suppose  that  Rumour  was  on  the  watch  to  defeat  and 
expose  her,  and  she  wishes  that  the  gloom  may  I>e  so  intense  that  her  eyes  must  wink 
perforce,  and  so  Romeo  may  leap  to  her  arms  unseen,  and  their  union  remain  undi- 
vulged.  There  may  also  have  been  intended  a  ])lay  on  the  names  Rumour  and 
Romeo,  like  *  My  concealed  lady  to  our  cancell'd  love.' — III,  iii,  98.  As  Sh. 
undoubtedly  knew  French,  he  may  have  had  these  lines  of  Marot  in  his  mind : 

'  Car  noire  Nuict,  qui  des  amants  prend  cure, 
Les  couvrira  de  sa  grand  robbe  obscure  ; 
Et  si  rendra  cependant  endormis 
Ceux  qui  d' Amour  sent  mortelz  ennemis.' — EUg.  xi. 

H.  K.  ('..v.  and  Q.,'  3d  ser.,  vol  xii,  p.  I2I,  1867).  First.  Why  may  it  not  mean 
the  eyes  of  those  prying  pests  of  society,  whose  business  and  pleasure  it  is  to  lie  ever 
on  the  watch  for  diny  faux  pas  on  the  part  of  their  neighbours,  and  having  seen  one, 
to  run  away  and  spread  the  discovery  through  every  'scandalous  college'  of  which 
they  are  members  ?  Does  not  Juliet  simply  mean  :  May  the  eyes  of  any  watcher, 
lying  perdu  to  run  away  with  a  report  of  our  meeting,  be  made  to  wink, — be  blinded 
in  spite  of  their  malicious  acuteness,  by  the  darkness, — and  our  interview  conse- 
quently remain  unseen  and  untalked  of?  '  Untalked  of  seems  to  me  conclusive 
that  Juliet  was  afraid  of  somebody  who  could  '  talk.'  So  evidently  thought  the 
German  translator,  when  he  rendered  the  passage  (one-volume  Sh.,  Wien,  1826) : 
'  damit  das  Auge  Dcr  Neubegier  sich  schliess'.'  To  me  this  interpretation  is  the 
simplest  and  most  satisfactory :  but  secondly,  to  bring  out  this  meaning  more  unmis- 
takably, is  it  not  possible  that  the  second  word  is  the  one  misprinted, — its  first  letter 
having  also  got  accidentally  tacked  on  to  the  preceding  word ;  and  that  we  ought, 
instead  of  '  runaway's  eyes,'  to  read  '  runaway  spies,'  or,  with  the  alteration  of  only 
one  letter,  '  runawaye  spyes'  ?  Every  one  notoriously  loves  his  own  brain-children 
too  much ;  but  I  must  say,  if  we  are  to  alter  at  all,  this  alteration  appears  to  me  to 
be  as  reasonable  and  small  as  any  hitherto  suggested  by  bigger  men  than  I.  But  I 
am  quite  content  to  gather  the  same  meaning,  without  any  alteration  whatever,  from 
the  words  as  they  stand.  'Even  the  attempt,'  says  Mr.  Keightley,  'to  elucidate, 
if  it  be  only  a  single  word  in  our  great  dramatist,  though  mayhap  a  failure,  is  laud- 
able;' and  I  therefore  offer  no  apology  for  casting  my  small  conjectural  pebble  on 
the  huge  cairn  which  commentators  and  critics  have  heaped  over  the  bones  of  Sh. 

Clarke  {'CasselVs  lUust.  Sh.,'  1869).  We  leave  'runaways"  in  the  text  because 
Sh.  has  used  '  runaway'  and  '  runaways'  elsewhere  to  express  those  who  speed  or  fly 
away,  and  because  it  may  be  used  here  in  reference  to  the  horses  of  the  sun  (the 
•fiery-footed  steeds')  as  a  poetical  embodiment  of  Day.  We  at  one  time  believed 
that  '  runawayes'  might  be  a  misprint  for  '  sunny  day's,'  but  we  now  incline  to  think 
that  the  originally  written  word  may  have  been  '  curious'  or  •  envious,'  more  proba- 
bly the  latter,  as  being  in  Sh.'s  style  of  using  a  word  with  a  double  meaning;  includ- 
ing the  sense  of  envying  her  joys,  and  inimical,  hostile,  hating,  malevolent. 

A.  M'Ilwaine  {'Leisure  Hours,'  Feb.  1869,  Pittsburg,  Pa.)  [Unfortunately,  1 
am  prevented  by  lack  of  space  from  giving  the  arguments  whereby  Mr.  M'Ilwaine 
supports  his  conclusions.  Ed.]  We  have  seen  that  the  missing  word  is  required  to 
be  of  four  syllables ;  that  by  it  are  characterized  human  '  eyes,'  here  implored  to  be 
soon  given  over  to  sleep ;  and  that  it  comprises  some  epithet  descriptive  of  Day.  In 
that  space  of  four  syllables  her  crowding  thought  makes  vent  by  the  expressiveness 
of  a  compound  word  (remarkably  numerous  in  this  Play),  wherein  Sh.  has  made 
Juliet  speak  of  others  out  of  the  coloring  of  her  own  passion.     Never  before  did 


GARRICK'S    VERSION.  395 

flie  sun  appear  to  her  so  slow.  She  is  impatient  with  the  '  tedious'  day,  and  feels  as 
if  all  the  world  must  be  equally  tired  of  its  lingering.  Therefore  she  wishes  Night 
to  so  spread  itself  that  all  eyes  in  Verona  could  seek  their  repose,  and  leave  the 
hour  to  her  and  Romeo.  This  is  the  thought  which  is  precisely  expressed  by  the 
word  which  we  have  now  to  offer.  Its  adaptation,  and  perfect  compliance  with  all 
the  requisites,  we  think  justify  us  in  announcing  it  as  an  undoubted  reading  of  Sh.'s 
MS.,  for  the  first  time  committed  to  the  press :  '  That  Sun-aweary  eyes.'  Sun- 
aweary  employs  all  the  letters  of  '  runawayes'  and  no  more.  In  two  other  instances 
has  Sh.  employed  this  same  imagery  with  nearly  the  same  combination  of  language. 
See  I  Hen.  IV:  III,  ii,  76-So,  85-88,  and  Macbeth  V,  v,  49. 


GARRICK'S    VERSION. 

[The  following  is  Garrick's  Version  of  the  Death-scene,  beginning  at  V,  lu, 
118.  Ed.] 

Rom.     Soft ! — she  breathes  and  stirs ! 

Jul.     Where  am  I  ? — Defend  me,  powers ! 

Rom.     She  speaks,  she  lives,  and  we  shall  still  be  bless'd  I 
My  kind  propitious  stars  o'erpay  me  now 
For  all  my  sorrows  past — Rise,  rise,  my  Juliet, 
And  from  this  cave  of  death,  this  house  of  horror. 
Quick  let  me  snatch  thee  to  thy  Romeo's  arms. 
There  breathe  a  vital  spirit  in  thy  lips. 
And  call  thee  back,  my  soul,  to  life  and  love.  [Kaues  her. ) 

Jul.     Bless  me  !  how  cold  it  is ! — Who's  there  ? 

Ron.     Thy  husband ; 
'Tis  thy  Romeo,  Juliet ;  rais'd  from  despair 
To  joys  unutterable  ! — Quit,  quit  this  place. 
And  let  us  fly  together —  {Brings  her  from  the  Tomb.'^ 

Jul.     Why  do  you  force  me  so? — I'll  ne'er  consent— 
My  strength  may  fail  me,  but  my  will's  unmov'd — 
I'll  not  wed  Paris — Romeo  is  my  husband. — 

Rom.     Romeo  is  thy  husband ;  I  am  that  Romeo, 
Nor  all  the  opposing  powers  of  earth  or  man 
Shall  break  our  bonds,  or  tear  thee  from  my  heart. 

Jul.     I  know  that  voice — Its  magic  sweetness  wakes 
My  tranced  soul — I  now  remember  well 

Each  circumstance — O  my  lord,  my  husband ! —         ( Going  to  embrace  ntm  * 
Dost  thou  avoid  me,  Romeo  ?     Let  me  touch 
Thy  hand,  and  taste  the  cordial  of  thy  lips — 
You  fright  me — Speak — O,  let  me  hear  some  voice 
Besides  my  own,  in  this  drear  vault  of  death, 
Ct  I  shall  faint — Support  me — 

Rom.     O,  I  cannot; 


396  APPEXDIX. 

I  have  no  strength ;  but  want  thy  feeble  aid. — 
Cruel  poison ! 

Jul.     Poison  !     WTiat  means  my  lord  ?     Thy  Qcmbiing  voice, 
Pale  lips,  and  swimming  eyes, — Death's  in  thy  face. 

Rom.     It  is  indeed, — I  struggle  with  him  now ; — 
The  transports  that  I  felt 

To  hear  thee  speak,  and  see  thy  opening  eyes. 
Stopped,  for  a  moment,  his  impetuous  course, 
And  all  my  mind  was  happiness  and  thee ; — 
And  now  the  poison  rushes  through  my  veins ; — 
I  have  not  time  to  tell, — 
Fate  brought  me  to  this  place  to  take  a  last, 
Last  farewell  of  my  love,  and  with  thee  die. 

Jul.     Die  ? — Was  the  friar  false  ? 

Rom.     I  know  not  that. — 
I  thought  thee  dead;  distracted  at  the  sight, — 
O  fatal  speed  ! — drank  poison, — kiss'd  thy  lips, 
And  found  within  thy  arms  a  precious  grave ; — 
But,  in  that  moment — O  ! — 

Jul.     And  did  I  wake  for  this  ! 

Rom.     My  powers  are  blasted  ; 
'Twixt  death  and  love  I'm  torn,  I  am  distracted; 
But  death's  strongest. — And  must  I  leave  thee,  Juliet  ? — 
O  cruel,  cursed  fate !  in  sight  of  Heaven, — 

Jul.     Thou  rav'st ;  lean  on  my  breast. 

Rovi,     Fathers  have  flinty  hearts,  no  tears  can  melt  'em; — 
Nature  pleads  in  vain ; — Children  must  be  wretched. 

Jul.     O,  my  breaking  heart ! 

Rom.     She  is  my  wife, — our  hearts  are  twin'd  together. — 
Capulet,  forbear ; — Paris,  loose  your  hold ; — 
Pull  not  our  heart-strings  thus ; — they  crack, — ^they  break, — 
O  Juliet!  Juliet ! —  {Dies.     Juliet  faints  on  Romeo's  tody.) 


[Under  the  following  heads:  'Source  of  the  Plot,'  'Date  of  the  Play,' 
The  Text,'  Costume,'  I  have  digested  and  arranged  the  Prefaces  to  vahoiu 
editions,  together  with  additional  matter  from  other  sources.  In  order  to  avoid 
rej>ctition,  1  have,  in  many  instances,  been  obliged  to  violate  chronological  prece- 
dence ;  for  instance,  Steevens  mentioned  Girolamo  della  Corte  before  Singer  did, 
and  Singer  mentions  Massuccio  before  Simrock,  &c.,  &c. ;  but  as  Singer  in  the 
former  case,  and  Simrock  in  the  latter,  give  each  a  fuller  account  than  his  prede- 
ressor.  I  have  followed  that  edit  >r  who  has  given  the  most  information.]    Ed. 


SOURCE    OF    THE   PLOT.  397 


SOURCE    OF    THE    PLOT. 

Malone.  The  story  on  which  this  play  is  formed  was  originally  told  by  Luigi  da 
Porto,  of  Vicenza,  who  died  in  1529.  His  novel  did  not  appear  till  some  years  after 
his  death,  being  first  printed  at  Venice  in  1535,  under  the  title:  'Nystoria  Noz'ella 
mente  Ritrovata  di  dui  nobili  Amanti  :  Con  la  loro  Pietosa  niorte  :  In!e>~venuta  gia 
nella  Citta  di  Verona  Nel  tempio  del  Signor  Bartolonteo  Scala,^  A  second  edition 
appeared  in  1539,  and  it  was  reprinted  at  the  same  place  in  1553  (without  the 
author's  name). 

In  1554,  Bandello  published,  at  Lucca,  a  novel  on  the  same  subject;  and  shortly 
afterward  Boisteau  exhibited  one  in  French,  founded  on  the  Italian  narratives,  but 
varying  from  them  in  many  particulars.  From  Boisteau's  novel  the  story  was,  in  1562, 
formed  into  an  English  poem,  with  considerable  alterations  and  large  additions,  by 
Mr.  Arthur  Brooke.  This  piece  was  printed  by  Richard  Tottel  with  the  title,  written 
probably,  according  to  the  fashion  of  that  time,  by  the  bookseller:  ^The  Tragicall 
Hy story  of  Romeus  and  y»liet,  containing  a  rare  Example  of  true  Constancie  :  with 
the  subtill  Counsels,  and  Practices  of  an  old  Fryer,  and  their  ill  event.^  It  was  again 
published  by  the  same  bookseller  in  1582.  Painter,  in  his  Palace  of  Pleasure, 
vol.  ii,  1567,*  published  a  translation  from  Boisteau,  entitled  Rhomeo  and  yulietta, 
Sh.  had  probably  read  Painter's  novel,  having  taken  one  circumstance  from  it  01 
some  other  prose  translation  of  Boisteau ;  but  his  play  was  undoubtedly  formed  on 
the  poem  of  Arthur  Brooke.  This  is  proved  decisively  by  the  following  circum- 
stances: I.  In  the  poem  the  prince  of  Verona  is  called  Escalus ;  so  also  in  the  play. 
In  Painter's  translation  from  Boisteau  he  is  named  Signor  Escala,  and  sometimes 
Lord  Bartholomew  of  Escala.  2.  In  Painter's  novel  the  family  of  Romeo  are  called 
the  Montesches ;  in  the  poem  and  in  the  play,  the  Montagues.  3.  The  messenger 
employed  by  Friar  Lawrence  to  carry  a  letter  to  Romeo  is  in  Painter's  'ranslation 
called  Anselme ;  in  the  poem  and  in  the  play,  Friar  yoh7i  is  employed  \v  this  busi- 
ness. 4.  The  circumstance  of  Capulet's  writing  down  the  names  of  the  guests  whom 
he  invites  to  supper  is  found  in  the  poem  and  in  the  play,  but  is  not  mentis  ned  by 
Painter,  nor  is  it  found  in  the  original  Italian  novel.  5.  The  residence  of  the  Capu- 
lets,  in  the  original  and  in  Painter,  is  called  Villa  Franca;  in  the  poem  and  in  the 
play,  Freetown.  6.  Several  passages  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  appear  to  have  been 
formed  on  hints  furnished  by  the  poem,  of  which  no  traces  are  found  either  in  Pain- 
ter's novel,  or  in  Boisteau,  or  the  original.  The  question,  however,  is  not,  whether 
Sh.  had  read  other  novels,  or  other  poetical  pieces,  founded  on  this  story,  but  whether 
the  poem  written  by  Arthur  Brooke  was  the  basis  on  which  this  play  was  built.  With 
respect  to  the  name  of  Romeo,  this  also  Sh.  might  have  found  in  the  poem ;  for  in 
one  place  that  name  is  given  to  him ;  or  he  might  have  had  it  from  Painter's  novel, 
from  which  or  from  some  other  prose  translation  of  the  same  story  he  has  as  I  have 
already  said,  taken  one  circumstance  not  mentioned  in  the  poem.     In   1570  was 

•  R.  G.  White.  That  Paynter  translated  the  translation  of  Boisteau,  I  am  able  to  statf-  only  on  the 
authority  of  Steevens'  assertion,  repeated  by  Malone  and  Collier.  For  although  Masuccio's,  Da  Porto's 
and  Bandello's  novels  are  at  my  hand,  I  have  not  met  with  a  copy  of  Belleforests  Histoires  Tragiquts; 
and  I  can  find  no  notice  of  its  publication  at  an  earlier  date  than  1580,  under  the  following  title :  '  His- 
toires tragiques  extraites  des  oeuvres  italiennes  de  Bandel,  et  mise  en  langue  fran^oise  ;  les  six  I'es  par 
P.  Boiastuau  sumommfe  Launay  et  les  suivantes  par  Fr.  de  Belleforest.  Paris,  Jean  de  Borde?ux,  1580,' 
7  vols.,  i6mo.  Unless  there  was  an  earlier  edition  either  of  Belleforest's  collection  or  of  Boisteau's  lis 
Hiiioires  by  themsd  -es  (of  which  I  can  discover  no  evidence),  here  is  a  conflict  of  dates. 

34 


39S 


APPENDIX. 


entered  on  the  Stationers'  books  by  Henry  Bynneman,  '  The  Pitiful  Hystory  of  ij 
lovyng  Italians,'  which  I  suspect  was  a  prose  narrative  of  the  story  on  which  Sh.'s 
play  is  constructed.* 

From  the  following  lines  in  An  Epitaph  on  the  Death  of  Maister  Arthur  Brooke 
drounde  in  passing  to  New-Huven,  by  George  Turberville,  {EpUaphes,  Epigramnus, 
Sic,  1567,]  we  learn  that  the  former  was  the  author  of  this  poem  : 

'Apollo  lent  him  lute,  for  solace  sake, 

'  To  sound  his  verse  by  touch  of  stately  string, 
'And  of  the  never-fading  baye  did  make 

'  A  lawrell  crowne,  about  his  browes  to  cling. 
'  In  proufe  that  he  for  myter  did  excel!. 

'As  may  be  judge  by  Julyet  and  her  mate; 
'  For  there  he  shewde  his  cunning  passing  well, 

'  When  he  the  tale  to  English  did  translate. 
'But  what?  as  he  to  forraigne  realm  was  bound, 

'  With  others  moe  his  soveraigne  queene  to  serve, 
'Amid  the  seas  unluckie  youth  was  drownd, 

'  More  speedie  death  than  such  one  did  deserve.' 

In  Luigi  da  Porto's  novel,  called  La  Giulietta,  the  author  gives,  in  an  epistie 
addressed  'Alia  bellissima  e  legiadra  Madonna  Lucina  Savorgnana,'  an  account 
(probably  fictitious)  of  the  manner  in  which  he  became  acquainted  with  the  story, 
which  was  from  the  mouth  of  '  an  archer  whose  name  was  Peregrine,  a  man  about 
fifty  years  old,  well  practised  in  the  military  art,  a  pleasant  companion,  and,  like 
almost  all  his  countrymen  of  Verona,  a  great  talker.' 

BoswELL.  Douce  has  observed  that  the  material  incidents  of  this  story  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Ephesiacs  of  Xenophon  of  Ephesus.f  a  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
He  admits  indeed  that  this  work  was  not  published  nor  translated  in  the  time  of 
Luigi  Porto,  but  suggests  that  he  might  have  seen  a  copy  in  MS.  Dunlop,  in  his 
•History  of  Fiction,'  has  traced  it  to  the  thirty-third  novel  of  Masuccio  di  Salerno, 
whose  collection  of  tales  appeared  first  in  1476.  Whatever  was  its  source,  the  story 
has  at  all  times  been  eminently  popular  in  all  parts  of  Europe.  A  play  was  formed 
upon  it  by  Lopez  de  Vega,  entitled  Los  Castelvines  y  Monteses ;  and  another  in  the 
same  language,  by  Don  Francisco  de  Roxas,  under  the  name  of  Los  Vandos  de 
Verona.  In  Italy,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  it  has  not  been  neglected.  The  modem 
productions  of  it  are  too  numerous  to  be  specified;  but  as  early  as  1578,  Luigi  Groto 
produced  a  drama  upon  the  subject,  called  ^Hadriana^  of  which  an  analysis  may  be 
found  in  Walker's  *  Historical  Memoir  on  Italian  Tragedy.'  Groto,  as  Walker 
observes,  has  stated  in  his  prologue  that  the  story  is  drawn  from  the  ancient  history 
of  Adria,  his  native  place;  yet  Girolamo  de  la  Corte  has  given  it  in  his  history  of 
Verona,  as  a  fact  that  actually  took  place  in  that  city  in  the  year  1303.  If  either  of 
these  statements  should  be  supposed  to  have  any  foundation  in  truth,  the  resem- 
blance pointed  out  between  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Xenophon's  Ephesiacs,  must  be  a 
mere  coincidence ;  but  if  the  whole  should  be  considered  a  fiction,  we  may  perhaps 
carry  it  back  to  a  much  greater  antiquity,  and  doubt  whether,  after  all,  it  is  not  the 
tale  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  enlarged  and  varied  by  the  luxuriant  imagination  of 
the  later  novelist.     We  have  here  the  outlines  of  the  modem  narrative  ;  the  repug- 

•  Mr  Collier  {'Sh.  Soc.  Pafiert,'  vol.  ii,  p.  118)  has  shown  that  this  memorandum  does  not  refer  to 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  but  to  'The  pityfull  Historie  of  two  louiug  Italians,  Gaulfrido  and  Burnardo  1« 
rayne  :  which  ariued  in  the  countrey  of  Grece  in  the  time  of  the  noble  Emperoure  Vespasian,'  &c.  Ed. 

t  Whi'-b  I  cannot  regard  Douct'«  endeavor,  thus  to  trace  the  story,  as  other  than  an  ingenious  per 
fenion  oi  recondite  learning. 


SOURCE    OF    THE    PLOT.  399 

nance  of  the  parents  on  either  side ;  the  meeting  of  the  lovers  at  the  tomb,  and 
Pyramus,  like  Romeo,  drawn  to  self-destruction  by  a  false  opinion  of  the  death  of 
his  mistress. 

In  Arthur  Brooke's  preface  there  is  a  very  curious  passage,  in  which  he  informs 
us  of  a  play  upon  the  subject  prior  to  his  poem;  but  as  he  has  not  stated  in  what 
country  it  was  represented,  the  rude  state  of  our  drama  before  1562  renders  it  im- 
probable that  it  was  in  England.*  Yet  I  cannot  but  be  of  opinion  that  Romeo  and 
Juliet  may  be  added  to  the  list  of  Sh.'s  plays  that  had  appeared  in  a  dramatic  shape 
before  his  performance,  and  that  some  slight  remains  of  his  predecessor  are  still  to 
be  traced  in  (QJ.  If  the  reader  will  turn  [to  (QJ,  I173-I188,  corresponding  with 
III,  i,  148-168],  I  apprehend  he  will  find,  both  in  the  rhythm  and  construction  of 
that  speech,  a  much  greater  resemblance  to  the  style  of  some  of  Sh.'s  predecessors 
than  to  his  own. 

Singer  (ed.  i).  Girolamo  della  Corte,  in  his  History  of  Verona,  relates  this  story 
circumstantially  as  a  true  event,  occurring  in  1303  ;  but  Maffei  does  not  give  him  the 
highest  credit  as  an  historian.  He  carries  his  history  down  to  the  year  1560,  and 
probably  adopted  the  novel  to  grace  his  book.  The  earlier  annalists  of  Verona,  and 
above  all,  Torello  Sarayna,  who  published,  in  1542,  '  Le  Historie  e  Fatti  de  Vero- 
nesi  nell  Tempi  d'il  Popolo  e  Signori  Scaligeri,'  are  entirely  silent  upon  the  subject, 
though  some  other  domestic  tragedies  grace  their  narrations.  The  story  is  also  to  be 
found  in  Bandello  (vol.  ii.  Novel  ix) ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  he  says  it  was 
related  to  him,  when  at  the  baths  of  Caldera,  by  the  Captain  Alexander  Peregrino, 
a  native  of  Verona ;  we  may  presume  the  same  person  from  whom  Da  Porto  received 
it ;  unless  this  appropriation  is  to  be  considered  supposititious.  The  story  also  exists 
in  Italian  verse :  and  I  once  had  a  glance  of  a  copy  of  it  in  that  form,  but  neglected 
to  note  the  title  or  date,  and  had  not  time  for  a  more  particular  examination. 
Schlegel  remarks  [of  Brooke's  poem]  that '  there  can  be  nothing  more  diffuse,  more 
wearisome,  than  the  rhyming  history  which  Sh.'s  genius,  "  like  richest  alchemy,"  has 
changed  to  beauty  and  to  worthiness.'  Nothing  but  the  delight  of  seeing  this  meta- 
morphosis can  compensate  for  the  laborious  task  of  reading  through  more  than  three 
thousand  six  and  seven-footed  iambics,  which,  in  respect  of  everything  that  amuses, 
affects,  and  enraptures  us  in  this  play,  are  as  a  mere  blank  leaf.  How  much  was  to 
be  cleared  away  before  life  could  be  breathed  into  the  shapeless  mass  !  Sh.  knew 
how  to  transform,  by  enchantment,  letters  into  spirit,  a  workman's  daub  into  a  poet- 
ical masterpiece. 

Karl  Simrock  {'Plots  of  Sh.'s  Plays,'  Berlin,  1831,!  trans.,  «  Sh.  Soc.,'  London, 
1850).  A  similar  tragedy  happened  in  Sienna,  according  to  a  still  earlier  novelist, 
Masuccio  di  Salerno,  whose  Novellino  was  first  printed  in  Naples  in  1476,  and  who 
at  the  end  of  the  book  calls  God  to  witness  that  all  the  stories  related  by  him  hap- 

*  Staunton  agrees  with  Boswell  that  allusion  was  made  most  probably  to  some  representation  of  ii 
abroai   Ed. 

White.  It  seems  difficult  to  withhold  assent  to  Boswell's  remark.  But  again,  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  tone  of  Brooke's  apology  for  his  poem,  and  his  assertion  that  he  had  seen  its  argument  '  Uteiy 
set  forth'  upon  the  stage,  seem  to  imply  that  the  performance  to  which  he  refers  took  place  in  England, 
rather  than  beyond  '  the  narrow  seas.' 

DvcK  (ed.  2).  Nothing  can  be  more  improbable  than  what  some  have  conjectured, — that  Brooke  ia 
•peaking  of  a  drama  which  he  had  seen  abroad  :  he  evidently  alludes  to  an  English  play. 

t  This  is  the  date  given  both  in  Lowndes  and  in  the  Preface  by  Mr  HaUiwell  to  the  trans.  publlsLed 
by  the  'Sh.  Society;'  yet  in  the  latter,  which  I  have  followed,  Dunlop's  '  History  of  Fiction,'  ed.  i84S» 
u  quoted.  Although  the  trans,  must  have  been  made  from  a  later  edition  of  '  The  Remarks,'  I  hxn 
teverthel'>ss  placed  Simrock,  chronologically,  according  to  his  First  Edition.  Ed. 


400  APPENDIX 

pened  in  his  own  times.  His  story  is  briefly  as  follows :  In  Sienna  lived  a  young 
man,  well  born,  Mariotto  Mignanelli,  in  love  with  Gianozza,  and  successful  in 
engaging  her  affections.  Some  obstacle  was  in  the  way  of  their  public  marriage. 
They  resolved  upon  a  secret  union,  bribing  an  Augustine  monk  to  unite  them. 
Shortly  afterwards  Mariotto  killed  a  citizen  of  note  of  Sienna,  with  whom  he  had  a 
quarrel.  Condemned  by  the  Podesta  to  perpetual  banishment,  he  fled  to  an  uncle, 
Sir  Nicolo  Mignanelli,  a  rich  merchant  in  Alexandria.  Gianozza  promised  to  write 
often  to  him ;  his  brother  Gargano  also  promised  to  write  and  tell  him  all  about  her. 
Soon  after,  Gianozza's  father  found  a  husband  for  her,  and  having  no  reason  that  she 
dared  to  allege,  she  could  not  oppose  the  marriage.  Pretending  to  consent,  she 
tried  to  escape  by  means  as  daring  as  they  were  strange ;  she  bribed  her  old  friend 
the  monk  to  prepare  a  potion  which  should  cast  her  into  a  deathlike  sleep  for  three 
days.  She  drank  it,  and  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Augustine,  having  pre- 
viously sent  to  inform  her  husband  of  her  purpose.  But  her  messenger  was  taken 
Dy  pirates  and  never  reached  him.  He  received,  however,  a  letter  from  his  brother 
telling  him  of  her  death,  and  that  of  her  father  who  died  of  grief  for  her  loss.  The 
unhappy  Mariotto  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  Sienna  and  die  upon  her  grave  or  sur- 
render himself  to  the  law.  He  was  taken  in  his  attempt  to  open  the  vault  and  con- 
demned to  death.  Meanwhile,  Gianozza  had  been  taken  from  her  grave  the  night 
after  her  burial,  and  as  soon  as  she  came  to  herself  had  set  out,  dressed  as  a  man, 
for  Alexandria.  Here  she  learns  that  Mariotto,  hearing  of  her  death,  had  gone  to 
Sienna.  She  instantly  returns,  arrives  just  three  days  after  his  execution,  and  dies 
of  grief  on  the  dead  body  of  her  lover.* 

In  our  opinion  the  same  features  as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  may  be  recognized  in 
the  three  most  celebrated  love  stories  of  all  times :  Hero  and  Leander,  Pyramus 
and  Thisbe  among  the  ancients,  and  Tristan  and  Isolde  among  the  modems. 

Knight.    When  Dante  reproaches  the  Emperor  Albert  for  neglect  of  Italy, — 

' Thy  sire  and  thou  have  suffer'd  thus. 

Through  greediness  of  yonder  realms  detain'd. 
The  garden  of  the  empire  to  run  waste,' — 
he  adds : 

'  Come,  see  the  Capulets  and  Montagues, 
The  Filippeschi  and  Monaldi,  man. 
Who  car'st  for  nought  1    Those  sunk  in  grief,  and  these 
With  dire  suspicion  rack'd.'t 

The  Capulets  and  Montagues  were  amongst  the  fierce  spirits  who,  according  to 
the  poet,  had  rendered  Italy  '  savage  and  unmanageable.'  The  Emperor  Albert 
was  murdered  in  1308;  and  the  Veronese,  who  believe  the  story  of  Romeo  and 
Jtiliet  to  be  historically  true,  fix  the  date  of  this  tragedy  as  1303.  At  that  period  the 
Scalas,  or  Scaligers,  ruled  over  Verona.  Walker,  in  his  '  Historical  Memoir  of 
Italian  Tragedy,'  gives  us  passages  in  support  of  his  assertion  [that  Sh.  had  read 
with  profit  Luigi  Groto's  tragedy.  Ed.],  such  as  a  description  of  a  nightingale  when 
the  lovers  are  parting,  which  appear  to  confirm  this  opinion.  To  attempt  to  show, 
as  many  have  attempted,  what  Sh.  took  from  the  poem  of  Romeus  and  Juliet,  and 
what  from  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure — how  he  was  '  wretchedly  misled  in  his 

•  Staunton.  '  La  donna  no'l  trova  in  Alessandria,  ritoma  a  Siena,  e  trova  I'amanto  decollato,  e  ella 
■opra  il  suo  corpo  per  dolare  si  muore,'  are  the  words  of  the  'Argument ;'  but  in  the  novel  itself  she  ii 
■aid  to  retire  to  a  monastery — '  Con  intenso  dolore  e  s.inguinose  lagrime  con  poco  cibo  e  niente  dormire, 
U  suo'  Mariotto  di  continova  chiamando,  in  brevissimo  tempo  fini  li  suoi  miserimi  giortii.' 

t  Purgatory,  Car  o  6.     Cary's  Translation. 


SOURCE    OF   THE   PLOT.  40 1 

catastrophe,'  as  Dunlop  has  it,  because  he  had  not  read  Luigi  da  Porto,  and  how  he 
invented  only  one  incident  throughout  the  play,  that  of  the  death  of  Paris,  and 
created  only  one  character,  that  of  Mercutio,  according  to  the  sagacious  Mrs. 
Lenox — appears  to  us  somewhat  idle  work. 

Campbell.  To  the  English  source  we  may  suppose  Sh.  to  have  applied.  Yet 
what  does  his  possession  of  those  undramatized  materials  derogate  from  his  merit  ? 
The  structure  of  the  play  is  one  of  the  most  regular  in  his  theatre,  and  its  luxury  of 
language  and  imagery  were  all  his  own.  The  general,  the  VAGUELY  general,  con- 
ception of  two  young  persons  having  been  desperately  in  love,  had  undoubtedly 
been  imparted  to  our  poet  by  his  informants ;  but  who  among  them  had  conceived 
the  finely-depicted  progress  of  Juliet's  impassioned  character  in  her  transition  from 
girlish  confidence  in  the  sympathy  of  others  to  the  assertion  of  her  own  superiority 
over  their  vulgar  minds  in  the  majesty  of  her  despair?  To  eulogize  this  luxuriant 
drama,  however,  would  be  like  gilding  refined  gold. 

Collier.  It  is  certain  that  there  was  an  English  play  upon  the  story  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet  before  the  year  1562;  and  the  fact  establishes  that  even  at  that  early  date 
our  dramatists  resorted  to  Italian  novels,  or  translations  of  them,  for  the  subjects  of 
their  productions.  It  is  the  most  ancient  piece  of  evidence  of  the  kind  yet  discov- 
ered, and  it  is  given  by  Arthur  Brooke.  At  the  close  of  his  address  '  to  the  Reader 
he  observes :  '  Though  I  saw  the  same  argument  lately  set  forth  on  stage  with  more 
commendation  than  I  can  look  for  (being  there  much  better  set  forth  than  I  have  or 
can  do),  yet  the  same  matter,  penned  as  it  is,  may  serve  the  like  good  effect.'  Thus 
we  see,  also,  that  the  play  had  been  received  *  with  commendation,'  and  that  Brooke 
himself,  unquestionably  a  competent  judge,  admits  its  excellence. 

We  can  scarcely  suppose  that  no  other  drama  would  be  founded  upon  the  same 
interesting  incidents  between  1562  and  the  date  when  Sh.  wrote  his  tragedy,  a 
period  of  probably  more  than  thirty  years ;  but  no  hint  of  the  kind  is  given  in  any 
record,  and  certainly  no  such  work,  either  manuscript  or  printed,  has  come  down  to 
us.  Of  the  extreme  popularity  of  the  story  we  have  abundant  proof,  and  of  a  remote 
date.  Thomas  Dalapeend  gives  the  following  brief  '  argument'  in  his  '  Pleasant 
Fable  of  Hermaphroditus  and  Salmacis,'  1565:  'A  noble  mayden  of  the  C)rty  of 
Verona,  in  Italye,  whyche  loved  Romeus,  eldest  Sonne  of  the  Lorde  Montesche,  and 
beinge  pryvelye  maryed  togyther,  he  at  last  poysoned  hym  selfe  for  love  of  her:  she, 
for  sorowe  of  his  deathe,  slewe  her  selfe  in  the  same  tombe  with  hys  dagger.' 
B.  Rich,  in  his  'Dialogue  betwene  Mercury  and  a  Souldier,'  1574,  says  that  'the 
pittifull  history  of  Romeus  and  Julietta'  was  so  well  known  as  to  be  represented  on 
tapestry.  Austin  Saker's  '  Narbonus,'  1580,  contains  the  following:  '  Had  Romeus 
bewrayed  his  mariage  at  the  first,  and  manifested  the  intent  of  his  meaning,  he  had 
done  wisely,  and  gotten  license  for  the  lives  of  two  faithful  friends.'  After  this  date 
the  mention  of  the  story  becomes  even  more  frequent,  and  sometimes  more  particu- 
lar ;  and  our  inference  is  that  it  owed  part  of  its  popularity,  not  merely  to  printed 
narratives  in  prose  or  in  verse,  nor  to  the  play  spoken  of  by  Brooke  in  1562,  but  to 
subsequent  dramatic  representations,  perhaps  more  or  less  founded  on  that  early 
drama. 

How  far  Sh.  might  be  indebted  to  any  such  production  we  have  no  means  of 
deciding ;  but  Malone,  Steevens,  and  others  have  gone  upon  the  supposition  that  Sh. 
was  only  under  obligations  either  to  Brooke's  poem  or  to  Paynter's  novel ;  and  least 
of  all  do  they  seem  to  have  contemplated  the  possibility,  that  he  might  have  obtained 
assistance  from  some  foreign  source. 

34*  2  A 


402  APPENDIX. 

Verplanck.  Although  Sh.  gives  us  scarcely  any  iudications  of  familiarity  with 
Qie  higher  Italian  literature  (such  as  abound  in  Spenser),  yet,  as  some  knowledge  of 
Italian  was  in  his  age  a  common  as  well  as  a  fashionable  acquisition  among  persons 
of  culture,  it  is  quite  probable  that  at  some  (and  that  not  a  late)  period  of  his  life, 
he  had  learned  enough  of  the  language  to  read  it  for  any  purpose  of  authorship, 
such  as  to  get  at  the  plot  of  an  untranslated  tale.  It  is  therefore  very  probable  that 
he  had  read  or  looked  into  all  the  books  containing  the  subject  of  his  intended  play, 
so  as  to  fill  his  mind  with  the  incidents  and  accessories  of  the  story.  The  commen- 
tators have  been  unjust  to  Brooke.  His  poem  has  been  treated  as  a  dull  and  inele- 
gant composition,  which  it  is  a  sort  of  merit  for  a  Shakespearian  critic  to  undergo  the 
drudgery  of  reading.  Campbell  dismisses  it  contemptuously,  as  a  '  dull  English 
poem  of  four  thousand  lines.'  The  reader  will,  after  overcoming  the  first  repulsive 
difficulties  of  metre  and  language,  find  it  to  be  a  poem  of  great  power  and  beauty. 
The  narration  is  clear,  and  nearly  as  full  of  interest  as  the  drama  it«elf ;  the  charac- 
ters are  vividly  depicted,  the  descriptions  are  graceful  and  poetical.  The  dramatist 
himself  (though  he  paints  far  more  vividly)  does  not  more  distinctly  describe  than 
the  poet  that  change  in  Juliet's  impassioned  character,  which  Campbell  regards  as 
never  even  conceived  of  by  any  narrators  of  this  tale  before  Sh., — I  mean  her 
transition  from  girlish  confidence  in  the  sympathy  of  others,  to  the  assertion  of  her 
own  superiority,  in  the  majesty  of  her  despair.  The  language  of  the  poem  is  of  an 
older  date  than  is  familiar  even  to  the  reader  of  Sh.  and  his  contemporaries,  and  it 
is  clouded,  in  addition,  with  affectations,  like  those  of  Spenser,  of  still  more  anti- 
quated English.  The  metre,  too,  is  unusual  and  unpleasing  to  the  modem  reader, 
being  of  alternated  twelve  and  fourteen-syllabled  lines,  with  an  occasional  redun- 
dant syllable  to  the  already  overflowing  verse, — a  rhythm  which  to  modem  ears  is 
associated  chiefly  with  ludicrous  or  humble  compositions.  With  all  these  accidental 
drawbacks  to  the  modem  reader,  it  has  the  additional  real  defect  of  partaking  of  the 
faults  of  its  times,  in  extravagance  of  imagery  and  harsh  coarseness  of  phrase. 
Neveitheless,  it  is,  with  all  these  faults,  a  noble  poem,  which,  either  coming  down 
from  antiquity  under  a  great  name,  or  rewritten  in  modem  days  by  Pope  or  Camp- 
bell, would  not  need  defence  or  eulogy. 

To  this  poem,  Sh.  owed  the  outline,  at  least,  of  every  character  except  Merculio. 
(What  an  exception !  sufficient  to  have  made  a  reputation  as  brilliant  as  Sheridan's, 
for  an  ordinary  dramatist.)  He  owes  to  the  story  abundant  hints  worked  up  in  the 
dialogue.  Will  not  Sh.'s  readers  agree  with  me  in  the  opinion  that  this  fact  is,  like 
many  others,  a  proof  of  the  real  greatness  of  his  mind  ?  He  had  before  him,  or 
within  his  reach,  materials  enough  for  his  purpose,  in  books  not  familiar  to  his  audi- 
ence ;  but  he  went  to  the  best  source,  although  it  was  one  where  every  reader  of 
poetry  might  trace  his  adaptations,  while  only  the  judicious  few  of  his  own  day 
would  note  and  understand  how  much  of  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  plot,  of  the  pic- 
turesque or  minute  description,  of  the  towering  magnificence  of  thought,  of  the  wit, 
of  the  passion  and  the  pathos,  belonged  to  the  dramatist  alone.  He  used  what  was 
best,  and  improved  it.  The  author  who  borrows  to  improve,  in  this  fashion,  is  no 
plagiarist.  In  the  happy  phrase  of  some  French  critic,  who  defends  Moli^re  against 
a  charge  of  plagiarism,  founded  on  a  similar  use  of  the  ideas  of  a  preceding  novel- 
ist— ^Le  plagiat  n^est  un  vol  que  pour  la  mtdiocriti,^ 

W.  W.  Lloyd  in  Singer  (ed.  2).  The  two  stories  of  Da  Porto  and  Bandello  run 
parallel  in  the  circumstance  of  the  catastrophe,  that  Juliet  revives  before  the  death 
of  "ler  husband  in  the  tomb,  and  expires  upon  his  body  as  of  a  sudden  broken  heart. 


SOURCE    OF   THE  PLOT.  403 

From  Bandello  the  story  was  translated  by  Boisteau,  who  had  evidently  no  better 
ground,  than  a  statement  in  his  author  that  the  story's  '  unhappy  ending  wellnigh 
drew  tears  from  all,'  for  his  assertion  that  so  recent  was  the  memory  of  the  inci- 
dents,— '  qu'a  peine  en  soni  essuiez  les  yeux  de  ceux  qui  ont  veu  ce  piteux  spectacle.' 

Arthur  Brooke's  address  to  the  reader  furnishes  us  with  the  interesting  fact,  that 
already  two  years  before  Sh.  was  born,  the  English  stage — this  I  think  is  implied — 
was  in  possession  of  a  play  on  the  subject  of  Rom.  and  Jul.,  which  a  versifier,  not  to 
say  a  poet,  of  considerable  merit  might  well  be  satisfied  to  rival.  There  is  evidence 
that  goes  far  to  prove  that  Sh.'s  drama  was  preceded  by  another,  that  must  have  been 
written  at  least  after  1578,  because  indebted  to  an  Italian  play  published  in  that  year. 
Plausibly  as  the  matter  has  been  argued,  I  believe  the  presumption  remains  conclu- 
sively against  Sh.'s  familiarity  with  either  Italy  or  the  Italian  language ;  and  even 
the  plausibility  is  weakened,  if  it  appears  that  transferences  directly  from  the  Italian 
stage  to  the  English,  gave  aid  in  communicating  the  tone  of  Italy,  its  imagery  and 
manners. 

In  Walker's*  Historical  Memoir  on  Italian  Tragedy,  an  account  is  given  of  the 
Tragedy  of  Hadriana  by  Luigi  Groto,  which  closely  follows  the  incidents  of  Da 
Porto's  novel,  merely  carrying  them  back  to  a  quasi  historical  antiquity — times  of 
Hatrio  King  of  Adria,  Mezentius,  &c.  The  author  was  a  remarkable  man,  for, 
though  blind  from  his  eighth  year,  he  was  not  only  a  poet  of  repute,  but  also  an 
actor.  Our  present  point  of  interest  is,  that  Walker  detected  such  coincidences  of 
expression  in  parallel  scenes  between  the  Hadriana  and  Sh.'s  Romeo  and  Juliet,  as 
to  imply  that,  directly  or  indirectly,  they  were  derived  from  the  Italian.  Thus  the 
mention  of  the  nightingale,  in  the  morning  scene  of  parting  of  the  lovers,  is  found 
in  the  Italian  and  Shakespearian  parallels,  but  in  none  other  that  is  extant 

'Latinus.    S'io  non  erro,  fe  presto  il  far  del  giorno, 
Udite  il  rossignuol,  che  con  noi  desto 
Con  noi  geme  fra  i  spini,  e  la  rugiada 
Col  pianto  nostro  bagna  I'herbe.     Ahi  lasso  I 
Rivolgete  la  faccia  all  oriente 
Ecco  incomincia  a  spuntar  I'alba  ftiori, 
Portando  un  altro  sol  sopra  la  terra.' 

In  the  following  passage,  also,  there  is  a  coincidence  of  expression  that  is  not  found 
eit\ier  in  Paynter  or  Brooke.  Mago,  the  substitute  for  the  Friar,  thus  instructs  the 
heroine  in  the  effects  of  the  sleeping  potion : — 

'  Questa  bevendo  voi  con  I'acqua  cruda, 
Dari  principio  a  lavorar  fra  un  poco, 
E  vi  addormentari  si  immota  e  fissa, 
E  d'ogni  senso  renderi  si  priva : 
II  calor  naturale,  il  color  vivo 
E  lo  spirar  vi  torri  si,  si  i  polsi, 
(In  cui  fe  il  testimonic  della  vita) 
Immobili  staran  senza  dar  colpo ; 
Che  alcun  per  dotto  fisico  che  sia, 
Non  potri  giudicarvi  altro,  che  morta. 
Compare  IV,  i,  93-103. 

•  Mr.  Lloyd  improves  so  much  upon  Walker  that  I  insert  his  remarks  rather  than  the  original  in  the 
'Historical  Memoir  on  Italian  Tragedy.  By  a  member  of  the  Arcadian  Academy  of  Rome'  {Joufk 
hooper  Walker),  p.  56.  London,  1799.  Moreover,  the  extract,  'Fu  il  mio  male,'  &a,  is  not  m 
A^alker.  Ed. 

Whitk.  Walker  has  very  slender  grounds  for  supposing  that  Sh.  was  acquainted  with  Groto't 
tragedy. 


404  AFPENDIX. 

The  corresponding  passages  in  Brooke's  poem  run  thus : 

*  It  doth  in  h.xlf  in  hour  astonne  the  taker  so. 
And  mastreth  all  his  senses  that  he  feeleth  weal  or  woe : 
And  so  it  burieth  up  the  sprite  and  living  breath, 
That  even  the  skilful  leech  would  say  that  he  is  slain  by  death.' .  .  . 

[For  the  rest  of  the  quotation  see  p.  220.]  Ed. 

To  this  tune  the  whole  tale  jogs  along  and  along  until  the  head  aches  with  the 
monotony,  the  eyes  swim,  and  the  room  goes  round ;  enough  of  it  then  and  to  spare, 
and  we  turn  for  relief  to  the  prose  that  is  more  rhythmical  of  Will.  Paj-nter.  We 
have  here  the  sim]>ler  prose  of  the  French  novelist  that  Brooke  hitched  into  metre; 
the  Friar  describes  a  paste  from 
divers  soporiferous  simples,  which,  beaten  afterwards  to  powder,  and  drunk  with  a  quantity  of  water 
within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  bringeth  the  receiver  into  such  a  sleep,  and  burieth  so  deeply  the 
senses  and  other  sprites  of  life,  that  the  cunningest  physician  will  judge  the  party  dead.  .  .  .  Behold, 
here  I  give  you  a  phial,  which  you  shall  keep  as  your  own  proper  heart,  and  the  night  before  your 
marriage,  or  in  the  morning  before  day,  you  shall  fill  the  same  up  with  water,  and  drink  so  much  as  it 
contained  therein.  And  then  you  shall  feel  a  certain  kind  of  pleasant  sleep,  which,  encroaching  by  little 
and  little  all  the  parts  of  your  body,  ■Bill  constrain  them  in  such  wise  as  unmovable  they  shall  remain, 
and,  by  not  doing  their  accustomed  duties,  shall  lose  their  natural  feelings,  and  you  abide  in  such  ecstasy 
the  space  of  forty  hours  at  tlie  least,  without  any  beating  of  pulse  or  other  perceptible  motion,  which 
shall  so  astonne  them  that  come  to  see  you  as  they  will  judge  you  to  be  dead,'  &c. 

I  find,  moreover,  in  a  speech  of  Groto's  heroine,  a  remarkable  agreement  with 
Romeo's  antithetical  definition  of  love — due,  I  think,  to  something  more  than  casual 
indulgence  in  the  same  commonplace  of  the  passion.  See  I,  i,  169-175,  186,  187, 
Compare  with  the  following  : 

'  Fu  il  mio  male  lu  piacer  senza  allegrezza ; 
Un  voler  che  si  stringe  ancorche  punga, 
Un  affanno  che'I  del  d4  per  riposo. 
Un  ben  supremo,  fonte  d"ogni  male, 
Un  male  estremo,  d"ogni  ben  radice, 
Una  piaga  mortal  che  mi  fec'io, 
Un  laccio  d'or  dov"io  stessa  m'awinsi. 
Un  velen  grato,  ch'io  bevei  per  gli  occhi  ; 
Giunto  un  finire  e  un  cominciar  di  vita, 
Una  febre  che'I  gelo,  e'l  caldo  mesce, 
Un  fel  piu  dolce  assai  che  mele  e  manna, 
Un  bel  fuoco  che  strugge  e  non  risolve, 
Un  giogo  insopportabile  e  leggiero, 
Una  pena  felice  un  dolor  caro, 
Una  morte  immortal  plena  di  vita. 
Un  Inferno  che  sembra  il  Paradiso.' 

The  testimony  of  these  extracts,  all  having  great  similarity  from  dependence  on 
common  authority,  is,  I  think,  not  to  be  escaped  from,  that  Sh.  is  here  much  closer  to 
the  Italian  drama  than  to  either  of  his  English  guides  that  remain.  I  therefore  infer 
on  grounds  already  indicated,  that  he  adapted  or  made  use  of  some  English  adapta- 
tion of  Groto,  now  lost;  and  when  we  consider  that  many  of  his  coincidences,  both 
with  Paynter  and  Brooke,  may  have  been  adopted  at  second  hand  through  this  inter- 
mediate work,  it  will  be  seen  that  we  shall  only  lose  time  and  mislead  ourselves  by 
entering  into  minute  comparisons  and  deductions.  Still,  there  is  great  interest  in 
noting  how  much  of  the  completed  ideal  was  germinant  in  the  original  inspiration  of 
the  incident,  and  even  fairness  to  the  Italian  authors  may  induce  us  to  compare  the 
sketch  of  Bandello,  that  ultimately  became  the  finished  soliloquy  of  Juliet  before 
faking  the  lethargic  potion. 


SOURCE    OF   THE   PLOT.  405 

•  Thir  night  she  slept  not  at  all,  or  but  little,  revolving  various  thoughts  in  her  mind ;  then,  as  the 
hour  of  dawn  approached,  at  which  she  was  to  drink  off  the  water  with  the  powder,  she  began  to  figure 
Tebaldo  in  her  imagination  as  she  had  seen  him  with  the  wound  in  his  throat  and  all  covered  with 
blood  ;  and  as  she  reflected  that  she  sliculd  be  buried  beside  or  perhaps  above  him,  and  how  many  dead 
bodies  and  fleshless  bones  there  were  within  this  monument,  a  chill  passed  through  her  frame,  so  that 
her  hair  all  stood  on  end  upon  her,  and,  overcome  with  affright,  she  trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 
And  then  a  cold  sweat  spread  over  all  her  limbs,  as  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  torn  by  these  dead 
bodies  into  a  thousand  pieces.  Then,  after  a  time  collecting  herself,  she  said,  "Ah  me,  what  would  I 
do?  Whither  would  I  cause  myself  to  be  carried?  Should  I  by  chance  wake  up  before  the  Friar  and 
Romeo  arrive,  what  would  become  of  me?  Could  I  support  the  stench  of  the  decaving  corpse  of 
Tebaldo,  I  who  can  scarcely  endure  the  slightest  disagreeable  smell  about  the  house?  Who  knows  what 
reptile  or  what  thousand  worms,  which  I  so  fear  and  shudder  at,  may  not  be  in  this  sepulchre?  and  if  I 
cannot  muster  courage  to  regard  them,  how  shall  I  endure  to  have  them  close  around  me, — touching 
me?  Have  I  not  heard  tell  a  thousand  times  what  fearful  things  have  occurred  at  night  even  in  churches 
and  cemeteries,  not  to  say  actually  within  a  tomb?'  With  this  alarming  thought  she  imagined  a  thousand 
hateful  things,  and  hesitated  to  take  the  potion,  and  was  on  the  point  of  pouring  it  on  the  ground ; 
raving  with  wild  distracted  thoughts,  she  was  now  inclined  to  take  the  draught,  and  now  others  suggested 
a  thousand  perils  to  her  mind.  At  last,  after  long  agitation  of  ideas,  urged  on  by  lively  fervent  love  for 
her  Romeo,  which  increased  amidst  her  troubles,  at  the  hour  that  Aurora  had  already  put  forth  her 
head  from  the  balcony  of  the  East,  chasing  away  all  opposing  thoughts  she  boldly  drank  off  the  potion 
at  a  single  draught,  and,  composing  herself  to  rest,  was  presently  asleep.' 

The  Italian  novel  of  course,  but  also  the  English  tale  derived  from  it,  is  more 
correct  in  the  details  of  the  cell  and  confessional  than  Sh.  is,  or  perhaps  cared  to  be. 
So  long  as  he  simplified  his  scene  and  satisfied  his  audience,  he,  no  doubt,  willingly 
gave  up  the  circumstances  of  management  that,  according  to  the  actual  practice  of 
the  country,  rendered  the  rendezvous  much  more  diflicult  than  it  appears  in  the  play. 
Brooke  writes  with  the  particularity  of  one  who  lived  nearer  to  the  times,  when  the 
land  had  been  only  too  glad  to  relieve  its  social  life  from  shriving  friars,  to  associate 
with  their  function  either  delicacy  or  romance.  His  preface  indeed  is  furiously 
polemical,  and  he  applies  hard  words  to  '  superstitious  friars'  and  '  auricular  confes- 
sion,' which  reflect  even  upon  the  purity  and  passion  of  the  two  lovers,  though  in 
the  actual  narrative  the  mere  sentiment  of  the  story  obliges  him  to  do  exacter  justice. 
Bandello's  friar  is  a  character  known  to  every  church. 

'  Forasmuch  as  the  good  Friar  had  no  wish  to  forfeit  the  good  opinion  of  the  vulgar,  and  yet  would 
enjoy  those  sweets  of  philosophical  research  to  which  he  was  inclined,  he  followed  his  pursuits  perforce 
as  cautiously  as  possible,  and,  as  a  protection  in  case  of  accidents,  was  desirous  of  attaching  himself  to 
some  personage  of  nobility  and  influence ;' 

And  this  is  made  the  motive  of  his  assistance  to  the  lovers. 

In  taking  leave  of  these  earlier  forms  of  the  story,  I  may  notice  that  it  seems 

pretty  clear,  from  comparison  of  the  words  of  Brooke,  that  whether  from  personal 

or  derived  knowledge,  he  seems  to  have  been  familiar  with  the  remarkable  tomb  of 

the  Scaligers  at  Verona,  and  to  have  regarded  or  chosen  to  regard  it  as  that  of  the 

lovers: 

'  And  lest  that  length  of  time  might  from  our  minds  remove 
The  memory  of  so  perfect,  sound  and  so  approved  a  love, 
The  bodies  dead,  removed  fi-om  vault  where  they  did  die 
In  stately  tomb  on  pillars  great  of  marble  raise  they  high. 
On  every  side  above  were  set  and  eke  beneath 
Great  store  of  cunning  epitaphs  in  honour  of  tlieir  death. 
And  even  at  this  day  the  tomb  is  to  be  seen. 
So  that  among  the  monuments  that  in  Verona  been 
There  is  no  monument  more  worthy  of  the  sight 
Than  is  the  tomb  of  Juliet  and  Romeus  her  knight.' 

Certain  general  modifications  in  the  conduct  and  construction  of  the  action  o\ 
which  no  trace  appears  before  Sh.,  and  no  doubt  are  originally  his,  are  the  introductioa 
of  Tybalt  at  the  masque,  and  the  commencement  there  of  the  animosity  against  Romec 


406  APPEXDIX. 

that  is  fata'i  to  them  both  afterwards, — the  specii  I  exasperation  of  Romeo  by  the 
slaughter  under  his  very  eyes  of  his  friend  Mercutio,  and  the  fatal  encounter  with 
Paris  at  the  Capulets'  monument.  Another  pervading  and  most  characteristic  change 
is  the  accelerated  movement  of  the  entire  story.  Sh,,  who  never  scruples  to  neglect 
the  restraints  of  time  when  they  would  interfere  with  the  effects  he  aims  at, — boldly 
beckoning  us  over  any  gulf  of  time,  as  in  The  Winter's  Tale,  or  as  in  Othello,  assum- 
ing a  lapsed  interval  that  the  continuous  occupation  of  the  stage  is  inconsistent  with, 
had  we  only  leisure  to  make  the  comparison, — in  this  Italian  story  neglects  the  pauses 
and  inters'als  that  separate  the  stages  of  the  original  stories,  moves  up  every  suc- 
cessive incident  in  preparation  before  the  previous  one  concludes,  and  scrupu- 
lously accounts  for  the  occupation  of  every  day  and  every  portion  of  each  day  and 
night  from  the  morning  that  opens  upon  the  bickering  partisans  to  that  which  gives 
light  to  their  reconciliation  when  too  late  to  save  the  best. 

[Mr.  Lloyd  here  gives  a  graphic  history  of  the  "  breathless  rapidity  of  incidents" 
during  the  first  four  acts. — Ed.] 

The  hasty  precipitancy  of  the  passion  of  Rom.  and  Jul.  is  the  ruling  motive  with 
which  all  the  accompaniments  harmonize,  as  it  seems  the  highest  expression  of  a 
prevailing  tendency  of  the  age  and  the  clime. 

Hudson.  Brooke's  poem,  in  sentiment,  imagery,  and  versification,  has  very  consid- 
erable merit.  It  may  rank  among  the  best  specimens  we  have  of  the  popular  English 
literature  of  that  period ;  being  not  so  remarkable  for  reproducing  the  faults  of  the 
time,  as  for  rising  above  them.  Of  Brooke  himself  very  little  is  known.  In  a  poet- 
ical address  '  to  the  Reader,'  prefixed  to  the  Tragical  History,  he  speaks  of  this  as 
'  my  youthful  work,'  and  informs  us  that  he  had  written  other  works  '  in  divers 
kinds  of  style.'  We  leam  also  from  the  body  of  the  poem,  that  he  was  unmarried ; 
and  in  1563  there  came  out  'An  Agreement  of  Sundry  Places  of  Scripture,'  by 
Arthur  Brooke,  with  some  verses  prefixed  by  Thomas  Brooke,  informing  us  that  the 
author  had  perished  by  shipwreck. 

In  the  older  English  versions  of  the  story,  there  is  a  general  fight  between  the 
partisans  of  the  two  houses ;  when,  after  many  have  been  killed  and  wounded  on 
both  sides,  Rom.  comes  in,  tries  in  vain  to  appease  with  gentle  words  the  fury  of 
Tybalt,  and  at  last  kills  him  in  self-defence.  What  a  vast  gain  of  dramatic  life  and 
spirit  is  made  by  Sh.'s  change  in  this  point  is  too  obvious  to  need  insisting  on. 
Much  of  a  certain  amiable  grace,  also,  is  reflected  upon  Paris  from  the  circumstances 
that  occasion  his  death ;  and  the  character  of  the  heroine  is  proportionally  raised  by 
the  beauty  and  pathos  thus  shed  around  her  second  lover ;  there  being  in  the  older 
versions  a  cold  and  selfish  policy  in  his  love-making,  which  dishonors  both  himself 
and  the  object  of  it. 

Richard  Grant  White.  From  what  hidden  recesses  of  the  past  the  story  of 
this  tragedy  is  derived,  and  through  how  many  strata  it  had  filtered  before  it  burst 
forth  from  Sh.'s  mind  a  spring  of  living  beauty,  it  is  hardly  worth  the  trouble  very 
curiously  to  inquire.  The  incidents  of  the  tale  are  based  upon  political  and  social 
conditions  which  existed  in  Italy  in  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century;  and  to 
that  period  they  are  referred  by  Da  Porto,  one  of  its  earliest  relators.*    As  to  the 

•  According  to  the  novelist,  his  informant  (Peregrine)  doubted  the  truth  of  the  story,  because  he  had 
"ead  in  some  chronicle  that  the  Capelletti  and  .Montecchi  were  of  the  sarae  faction.  Whether  Peregrino 
is  a  fictitious  character  or  not,  the  doubt  is  quite  surely  Da  Porto's ;  for  in  his  day  archers  did  not  read 
chronicles.  That  the  Capelletti  and  Montecchi  (or  Monticoli)  were  at  deadly  variance  seems,  however, 
to  be  true.     Se:  Alexandro  Torri's  most  thoroughly  edited  ed.  of  Da  Porto's  novel,  8vo,  Pi-a,  1831, 


SOURCE   OF   THE   PLOT.  407 

constjuction  of  his  tragedy,  the  characters  and  incidents,  Sh.  must  have  said  to  him- 
self, like  the  greatest  of  his  successors, — 

'  You  writer  of  plays, 
Here's  a  story  made  to  your  hand' 

For  the  tragedy  follows  the  poem  with  a  faithfulness  which  might  be  called  slavish, 
were  it  not  that  any  variation  from  the  course  of  the  old  story  was  entirely  imneces- 
sary  for  the  sake  of  dramatic  interest,  and  were  there  not  shown  in  the  progress  of 
the  action,  in  the  modification  of  one  character,  and  in  the  disposal  of  another,  all 
peculiar  to  the  play,  self-reliant  dramatic  intuition  of  the  highest  order.  For  the 
rest  there  is  not  a  personage,  or  a  situation,  hardly  a  speech,  essential  to  Brooke's 
poem,  which  has  not  its  counterpart — its  exalted  and  glorified  counterpart — in  the 
tragedy.*  ...  In  brief,  Romeo  and  yuliet  owes  to  Sh.  only  its  dramatic  form  and 
poetic  decoration.  But  what  an  exception  is  the  latter !  It  is  to  say  that  the  earth 
owes  to  the  sun  only  its  verdure  and  flowers,  the  air  only  its  perfume  and  its  balm,  the 
heavens  only  their  azure  and  their  glow.  Yet  this  must  not  lead  us  to  forget  that 
the  original  tale  is  one  of  the  most  truthful  and  touching  among  the  few  that  have 
entranced  the  ear  and  stirred  the  heart  of  the  world  for  ages,  or  that  in  Sh.'s  trans- 
figuration of  it  his  fancy  and  his  youthful  fire  had  a  much  larger  share  than  his 
philosophy  or  his  imagination. 

The  only  variations  from  the  story  in  the  play  are  the  three  which  have  just  been 
alluded  to : — The  compression  of  the  action,  which  in  the  story  occupies  four  or  five 
months,  to  within  as  many  days,  thus  adding  impetuosity  to  a  passion  which  had  only 
depth,  and  enhancing  dramatic  effect  by  quickening  truth  to  vividness ; — the  conver- 
sion of  Mercutio  from  a  mere  '  courtier,'  '  bold  among  the  bashfuU  maydes,' '  cour- 
teous of  his  speech  and  pleasant  of  devise,'  into  that  splendid  union  of  the  knight 
and  the  fine  gentleman,  in  portraying  which  Sh.,  with  prophetic  eye  piercing  a  cen- 
tury, shows  us  the  fire  of  faded  chivalry  expiring  in  a  flash  of  wit ; — and  the  bringing 
in  of  Paris  (forgotten  in  the  story  after  his  bridal  disappointment)  to  die  at  Juliet's 
bier  by  the  hand  of  Romeo,  thus  gathering  together  all  the  threads  of  this  love  entan 
glement  to  be  cut  at  once  by  Fate. 

Halliwell,  The  story  had  appeared  in  a  dramatized  form  on  the  English  stage 
before  1562,  as  is  known  from  the  preface  to  the  first  edition  of  Brooke's  poem ;  but 
no  such  play  is  now  believed  to  exist,  nor  will  it  ever  in  all  probability  be  discovered 
to  what  extent  Sh.  availed  himself  of  any  early  drama  on  the  subject.  [To  Mr.  Col- 
lier's proofs  of  the  early  popularity  of  the  story,  Mr.  Halliwell  adds  the  following 
from]  Philotimus,  1583  :  '  Fye,  pleasure,  fye,  thou  cloyest  me  withe  delyghte.  Nowe 
Priam's  sone,  give  place ;  thy  Helen's  hew  is  stainde  !  O  Troylus,  weepe  no  more, 
faire  Cressed  thyne  is  lothelye  fowle.  Nor  Hercules  thou  haste  cause  to  vaunt  for 
thy  swete  Omphale ;  nor  Romeo  thou  hast  cause  to  weepe  for  Juliet's  losse,  if  ever 
Aurelia  had  saluted  your  sight  whose  bright  eyes  beam  like  the  precious  carbuncle,' 
&c. 

[Mr.  Halliwell  reprints  Brooke's  Poem,  1562,  and  the  prose  version  of  Boisteau 
inserted  in  Paynter's  Palace  of  Pleasure,  1567.]  Ed. 

Dyce   (ed.  2).     From  Brooke's  title-page  we  might  infer  that  he  copied  Ban- 

pp.  xiv.-xviii,  56-63  ;  and  also,  Su  la  pietosa  tnorte  di  Giului  CappelUtti  e  Romeo  Montecchi  LetUrt 
Critiche  de  Pilippo  Scolari,  8vo,  Livomo,  1831,  pp.  7,  8,  and  passim. 

•  The  reader  curious  to  see  such  a  comparison  of  the  points  of  correspondence  between  the  poem 
and  the  play,  will  find  it  made  in  Skottowe's  Life  0/ Shakespeare  ;  Enquiries,  &c,  London,  1824.  to. 
*,  p.  290  to  p.  317. 


40:S  APPENDIX. 

dello ;  but  such  is  not  the  case  :  he  has  mainly  followed  '  Histoirs  de  deux  amam^ 
dont  run  mourut  dt  venin,  r  autre  de  tristesse  ;^  aversion  of  Bandello's  tale,  with 
numerous  variations  by  Boisteau,  in  Belleforesl's  Histoires  Tragiques :  Brooke  has, 
however,  considerably  altered  the  story,  and  added  much  of  his  own.  '  It  will  be 
observed  that  Brooke,  Paynter  and  Sh.,  all  conclude  the  story  in  the  same  manner: 
Juliet  does  not  wake  from  her  trance  in  the  tomb  until  Romeo  is  dead ;  but  in  Luigi 
da  Purto's  narrative,  and  in  Bandello's  novel  founded  upon  it,  she  recovers  her  senses 
in  time  to  hear  him  speak,  and  to  see  him  expire :  instead  of  stabbing  herself  with 
his  dagger,  she  dies,  as  it  were,  of  a  broken  heart,  on  the  body  of  her  lover.' — 
Collier,  Sh's  Librar)-,  vol.  ii,  p.  viii. 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  Sh.  may  have  made  use  of  an  earlier  tragedy  on  the  same 
lubject. 

The  ^Tragedy  of  Romeo  and  yuliet  acted  in  Germany,  in  the  year  1626,  by  Eng- 
lish players^  will  be  found  (both  in  German  and  in  English)  in  Mr.  Albert  Cohn's 
recently  published  4to  vol.  (1865),  entitled  Sh.  in  Germany  in  the  Sixteenth  and 
Seventeenth  Centuries,  &c.,  p.  305.  In  this  piece  the  business  of  Sh.'s  tragedy  is  pretty 
closely  followed,  and  we  occasionally  recognize  the  very  expressions  of  our  poet ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  it  is  intolerably  dull,  and  sometimes  disgusting  on  account  of  the 
gross  language  which  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  '  Clown.' 

Keightley.  The  remote  original  is  the  tale  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  in  Ovid's 
Metamorphoses.  Sh.  chiefly  followed  Brooke,  but  he  had  also  read  the  Palace  of 
Pleasure,  and  probably  Bandello's  tale  in  the  original. 


DATE  OF  THE  PLAY. 

Malone  {'Life  of  Sh.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  244,  1821.)  Sh.  in  his  early  plays  appears  to 
have  been  much  addicted  to  rhjoning ;  a  practice  from  which  he  gradually  departed, 
though  he  never  wholly  deserted  it.  In  this  piece  more  rhymes,  I  believe,  are  to  be 
found  than  in  any  of  his  other  plays,  Love's  Lab.  L.  and  Afid.  N.  D.  only  excepted. 
The  following  circumstance  ascertains  with  great  precision  that  it  must  have  been 
produced  between  July  23d,  1596,  and  April  17th,  1597.  It  is  observable  that  in  the 
title-page  of  (Q,)  it  is  said  that  it  had  been  often  '  plaid  publiquely  by  the  right  Hon- 
ourable the  L.  of  Hunsdon  his  Servants.'  I  formerly  had  not  been  aware  that  two 
noblemen  of  this  family  in  Sh.'s  time,  Henry  Lord  Hunsdon,  the  father,  and  George 
Lord  Hunsdon,  his  son,  both  filled  the  office  of  Lord  Chamberlain  of  the  Household  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  though  not  successively.  Henry,  the  father,  after  holding  this  station 
for  t  leven  years,  died  July  22d,  1596.  The  company  of  comedians  who  were  his  lord- 
ship's servants,  among  whom  Sh.,  Burbage,  Heminge,  Condell,  and  others,  were  en- 
tolled,  during  that  period,  or  a  considerable  part  of  it,  were  distinguished  by  the  appel- 
lation of  '  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men.'  Having,  however,  been  appended  to  him, 
not  as  Lord  Chamberlain,  but  as  a  peer  of  the  realm,  on  the  death  of  their  patron  they 
naturally  fell  under  the  protection  of  his  son  and  successor  in  the  title,  and  for  some 
time  continued  to  play  under  his  sanction,  like  the  servants  of  Lord  Derby,  Lord  Pem- 
broke, or  any  other  nobleman,  who  had  not  enjoyed  any  official  situation  in  the  court 
of  Elizabeth.    In  August,  1596,  the  vacant  office  of  Chamberlain  was  given  to  Willianj 


DATE    OF   THE   PLAY. 


409 


Brooke,  the  fourth  Lord  Cobham,  which  station  he  held  till  he  died,  on  Saturday 
March  5th,  1596-7;  a  period  of  about  seven  months;  and  about  six  weeks  after- 
wards George  Lord  Hunsdon  was  appointed  Lord  Chamberlain  in  his  room.  During 
the  interval  between  July  22d,  1596,  and  the  following  April,  Sh.'s  company  could 
only  be  denominated  the  servants  of  Lord  Hunsdon,  as  they  are  properly  styled  on 
the  title-page  of  this  play;  nor  did  they  recover  their  more  honorable  designation 
till,  on  April  17th,  1597,  the  nobleman  by  whom  they  were  licensed  was  advanced 
to  the  office  which  Lord  Cobham  had  held.  And  this  tragedy,  when  revised  and 
enlarged,  was  printed  in  1599,  as  acted,  not  by  the  Lord  Hunsdon's  servants  (as  in 
the  former  edition),  but  by  those  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain.  These  circumstances 
appear  to  me  to  ascertain  the  date  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  beyond  a  doubt. 

The  words  '  publiquely  acted"  which  are  found  on  the  title-page  of  (Q  )  show 
that  this  tragedy  was  performed  at  a  public,  in  contradistinction  to  a  private  theatre ; 
and  the  following  passage  in  Marston's  Tenth  Satire,  informs  us  that  it  was  played  at 
the  Curtain  Theatre,  then  occupied  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants,  and  the  for- 
tunate spot  where  Sh.'s  early  dramatic  productions  were  first  exhibited  : — Luscus,  a 
constant  haunter  of  playhouses,  is  thus  introduced : 

'Luscus,  what's  plaid  to-day?  i'  feith  now  I  knowe; 
I  see  thy  lips  abroach,  from  whence  doth  flow 
Naught  but  pure  Juliet  and  Romeo. 
Say  who  acts  best  ?    Drusus,  or  Roscio  ? — 
Now  I  have  him,  that  ne'er  of  ought  did  speake 
But  when  of  playes  or  players  he  did  treat ; 
And  speakes  in  print,  at  least  what  ere  he  sayes. 
Is  warranted  by  Curtain  plaudities. 
If  ere  you  heard  him  courting  Lesbia's  eyes.' 

In  the  third  Act  the  '  first  and  second  cause'  are  mentioned ;  that  passage,  there- 
fore, was  probably  written  after  the  publication  of  Saviolo's  'Book  on  Honour  and 
Honourable  Quarrels^  in  1594.  If  the  following  passage  in  an  old  comedy,  enti- 
tled Doctor  Dodipoll,  which  had  appeared  before  1596,  be  considered  as  an  imita- 
tion [see  III,  ii,  22-25]  i'  ™^y  ^^^  some  weight  to  the  supposition  that  Romeo  and 
Juliet  had  been  exhibited  before  that  year : 

'  The  glorious  parts  of  feir  Lucilia, 
Take  them  and  join  them  in  the  Heavenly  spheres. 
And  fix  them  there  as  an  eternal  light. 
For  lovers  to  adore  and  wonder  at.' 

Knight.  In  attempting  to  settle  the  Chronology  of  Sh.'s  plays,  there  are,  as  In 
every  other  case  of  literary  history,  two  species  of  evidence  to  be  regarded — the 
extrinsic  and  the  intrinsic.  Of  the  former  species  of  evidence,  we  have  the  one 
important  fact  that  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  by  Sh.,  however  wanting  in  the  completeness 
of  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  which  we  now  possess,  was  published  in  1597.  The  enu- 
meration of  this  play  by  Francis  Meres,  in  1598,  adds  nothing  to  our  previous 
information.  In  the  same  manner,  the  mention  of  this  play  by  Marston  in  his  Tenth 
Satire,  in  1599,  only  shows  how  popular  it  was.  As  Marston's  Tenth  Satire  did  not 
appear  in  his  'Three  Books  of  Satires,'  first  printed  in  1598,  it  is  by  no  means 
improbable  that  his  mention  of  the  play  referred  to  Q^.  [Knight  quotes  Malone's 
argument  in  reference  to  the  two  Lords  Hunsdon,  and  replies  to  it]  :  This,  no  doubt, 
is  decisive  as  to  the  play  being  performed  before  George  Lord  Hunsdon ;  but  it  is 
not  in  any  degree  decisive  as  to  the  play  not  having  been  performed  without  tlic 
advantage  of  tbis  nobleman's  patronage.  The  first  date  of  the  printing  of  any  play 
35 


4lO  APPENDIX. 

of  Sh.  i,Des  a  very  short  way  to  determine  the  date  of  its  theatrical  production  W« 
are  very  much  in  the  dark  as  to  the  mode  in  which  a  play  passed  from  one  form  of 
publication,  that  of  the  theatre,  into  another  form  of  publication,  that  of  the  press. 
It  is  no  evidence,  therefore,  to  our  minds,  that  because  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  first 
printed  m  1597  is  stated  to  have  been  publicly  acted  by  the  Lord  Hunsdon  his 
servants,  it  was  not  publicly  acted  long  before,  under  circumstances  that  would  appear 
less  attractive  in  the  bookseller's  title-page.  Of  the  positive  intrinsic  evidence  of 
the  date  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  play,  as  it  appears  to  us,  only  furnishes  one  passage. 
The  Nurse,  describing  the  time  when  Juliet  was  weaned,  says  :  '  'Tis  since  the  earth 
quake  now  eleven  years.'  [I,  iii,  22-48.]  All  this  particularity  with  reference  to  the 
earthquake  was  for  the  audience.  The  poet  had  to  exhibit  the  minuteness  with  which 
unlettered  people,  and  old  people  in  particular,  establish  a  date,  by  reference  to  some 
circumstance  which  has  made  a  particular  impression  upon  their  imagination ;  but  in 
this  case,  he  chose  a  circumstance  which  would  be  familiar  to  his  audience,  and 
would  have  produced  a  corresponding  impression  upon  themselves.  Tyrwhitt  was 
the  first  to  point  out  that  this  passage  had,  in  all  probability,  a  reference  to  the  great 
earthquake  which  happened  in  England  in  1580.  Stowe  has  described  this  earth- 
quake minutely  in  his  Chronicle,  and  so  has  Holinshed.  '  On  the  sixth  of  April, 
1580,  being  Wednesday  in  Easter  week,  about  six  o'clock  toward  evening,  a  sudden 
earthquake  happening  in  London,  and  almost  generally  throughout  all  England, 
caused  such  an  amazedness  among  the  people  as  was  wonderful  for  the  time,  and 
caused  them  to  make  their  prayers  to  Almighty  God  !'*  Sh.  therefore  could  not 
have  mentioned  an  earthquake,  with  the  minuteness  of  the  passage  in  the  Nurse's 
speech,  without  immediately  calling  up  some  associations  in  the  minds  of  his  audi- 
ence. He  knew  the  double  world  in  which  an  excited  audience  lives, — the  half 
belief  in  the  world  of  poetry  amongst  which  they  are  placed  during  a  theatrical  rep- 
resentation, and  the  half  consciousness  of  the  external  world  of  their  ordinary  life. 
The  ready  disposition  of  every  audience  to  make  a  transition  from  the  scene  before 
them  to  the  scene  in  which  they  ordinarily  move, — to  assimilate  what  is  shadowy 
and  distant  with  what  is  distinct  and  at  hand, — is  perfectly  well  knowm  to  all  whc 
are  acquainted  with  the  machinery  of  the  drama.  Actors  seize  upon  the  principle  tc 
perpetrate  the  grossest  violations  of  good  taste ;  and  authors  who  write  for  present 
applause  invariably  do  the  same  when  they  offer  us,  in  their  dialogue,  a  passing 
allusion,  which  is  technically  called  a  clap-trap.  In  the  case  before  us,  even  if 
Sh.  had  not  this  principle  in  view,  the  association  of  the  English  earthquake  must 
have  been  strongly  in  his  mind  when  he  made  the  Nurse  date  from  an  earthquake. 
Without  reference  to  the  circumstance  of  Juliet's  age — '  Come  Lammas-eve  at  night, 
shall  she  be  fourteen' — he  would  naturally,  dating  from  the  earthquake,  have  made 
the  date  refer  to  the  period  of  his  writing  the  passage  instead  of  the  period  of 
yuliet^s  being  weaned:  'Then  she  could  stand  alone.'  But,  according  to  the 
Nurse's  chronology,  Juliet  had  not  arrived  at  that  epoch  in  the  lives  of  children  till 
she  was  three  years  old.  The  very  contradiction  shows  that  Sh,  had  another  object 
in  view  than  that  of  making  the  Nurse's  chronology  tally  with  the  age  of  her 
nursling  Had  he  written — '  'Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  just  thirteen  years,'  we 
should  noi  have  been  so  ready  to  believe  that  Rom.  and  Jul.  was  written  in  1593; 
but  as  he  has  written — '  'Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years,'  in  defiance  of 
ft  very  obvious  calculation  on  the  part  of  the  Nurse,  we  have  no  doubt  that  he  wrote 

•  For  a  fiiller  account  of  this  event  in  the  words  of  Holinshed,  see  Staunton's  extract,  post  p.  41% 
And  addi'°onal  notes  ad  loc.  I,  iii,  24.   Ed. 


DATE    OF    .'HE   PLAY. 


411 


the  passage  eleven  years  after  the  earthquake  of  1580,  and  that,  the  passage  being 
also  meant  to  fix  the  attention  of  an  audience,  the  play  was  produced,  as  well  as 
written,  in  159 1. 

Reasoning  such  as  this  would,  we  acknowledge,  be  very  weak  if  it  were  unsup- 
ported by  evidence  deduced  from  the  general  character  of  the  performance,  with 
reference  to  the  maturity  of  the  author's  powers.  But,  taken  in  connection  with  that 
evidence,  it  becomes  important.  Now,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  believing,  although 
it  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  communicate  the  grounds  of  our  belief  fully  to 
our  readers,  that  the  alterations  made  by  Sh.  upon  his  first  copy  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  as  printed  in  1597  (which  alterations  are  shown  in  Q,),  exhibit  differences  as 
to  the  quality  of  his  mind — differences  in  judgment — differences  in  the  cast  of 
thought — differences  in  poetical  power — which  cannot  be  accounted  for  by  the  growth 
of  his  mind  during  two  years  only.  If  the  first  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  produced  in 
1591,  and  the  second  in  1599,  we  have  an  interval  of  eight  years,  in  which  some 
of  his  most  finished  works  had  been  given  to  the  world ; — all  his  great  historical 
plays,  except  Hen.  V  and  Hen.  VIII,  the  Mid.  Sum.  N.  D.,  and  the  Mer.  of  Ven. 
During  this  period  his  richness,  as  well  as  his  sweetness,  had  been  developed ;  and 
it  is  this  development  which  is  so  remarkable  in  the  superadded  passages  in  this 
play.  We  almost  fancy  that  the  '  Queen  Mab'  speech  will  of  itself  furnish  an 
example  of  what  we  mean.  The  lines  [I,  iv,  67,  68,  69]  are  not  in  (QJ  ;  but  how 
beautifully  they  fit  in  after  the  description  of  the  spokes — the  cover — the  traces — 
tlie  collars — the  whip — and  the  waggoner !  while  in  their  peculiarly  rich  and  pic- 
turesque effect,  they  stand  out  before  all  the  rest  of  the  passage.  Then,  the  ♦  I  have 
seen  the  day — 'tis  gone,  'tis  gone,  'tis  gone,'  of  old  Capulet  seems  to  speak  more  of 
the  middle-aged  than  of  the  youthful  poet,  of  whom  all  the  passages  by  which  it  is 
surrounded  are  characteristic.  Again,  the  lines  in  the  Friar's  soliloquy,  beginning : 
•  The  earth,  that's  nature's  mother,  is  her  tomb,'  look  like  the  work  of  one  who  had 
been  reading  and  thinking  more  deeply  of  nature's  mysteries,  than  in  his  first  deline- 
ation of  the  benevolent  philosophy  of  this  good  old  man.  But  as  we  advance  in  the 
play,  the  development  of  the  writer's  powers  is  more  and  more  displayed  in  his 
additions.  We  would  especially  direct  attention  to  the  soliloquy  of  Juliet  in  II,  v; — 
to  her  soliloquy,  also,  in  III,  ii ; — and  to  her  great  soliloquy,  before  taking  the 
draught  in  Act  IV.  We  confidently  believe,  that  whoever  peruses  with  attention 
this  last  passage  as  it  is  given  in  (QJ  will  entertain  little  doubt  that  the  original 
sketch  was  the  work  of  a  much  younger  man  than  the  perfect  composition  which  we 
now  possess.  The  whole  of  the  magnificent  speech  of  Romeo  in  the  tomb  may  be 
said  to  be  re-written ;  and  it  produces  in  us  precisely  the  same  impression,  that  it  wa.^ 
the  work  of  a  genius  much  more  mature  than  that  which  is  exhibited  in  the  original 
copy.  [Mr.  Knight  here  cites  Tieck's  imaginary  scene  between  Marlowe  and 
Greene,  as  cumulative  evidence  of  the  early  composition  of  this  play ;  and  concludes 
this  portion  of  his  preface  as  fellows]  :  He  [Tieck]  has  decidedly  placed  the  date 
of  its  performance  before  1592, — for  Greene  died  in  that  year,  and  Marlowe  in  the 
year  following.  The  Venus  and  Adonis  which  is  here  mentioned  as  not  quite  com- 
pleted was  published  in  1593.  Tieck  built  his  opinion,  no  doubt,  upon  intenial 
evidence ;  and  upon  this  evidence  we  must  be  content  to  let  the  question  rest. 

Collier  (ed.  i)  recites  Malone's  argument  (given  above)  in  favor  of  1596  as  tie 
date  of  the  composition  of  this  play,  and  adds :  The  answer  that  may  De  made  to 
this  argument  is,  that  though  the  tragedy  was  printed  in  1597,  as  it  had  been  acted 
by  Lord  Hunsdon's  servants,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  might  not  have  been  playrd 


412  APPEXDIX. 

%ovm  years  before  by  the  same  actors,  when  calling  themselves  the  Lord  Chamber 
Iain's  servants.  This  is  true ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  disputed  that  there  is  an  allusion 
in  one  of  the  speeches  of  the  Nurse  to  an  earthquake  which,  she  states,  had  occurred 
eleven  years  before.  It  has  been  supposed  that  this  passage  refers  to  the  earthquake 
of  1580,  and  consequently  that  the  play  was  written  in  1 59 1.  However,  those  who 
read  the  whole  speech  of  the  Nurse  cannot  fail  to  remark  such  discrepancies  in  it  as 
to  render  it  impossible  to  arrive  at  any  definite  conclusion,  even  if  we  suppose  that 
Sh.  intended  a  reference  to  a  particular  earthquake  in  England.  First,  the  Nurse 
tells  us  that  Juliet  was  in  a  course  of  being  wenned ;  then  that  she  could  stand  alone; 
and,  thirdly,  that  she  could  run  alone.  It  would  have  been  rather  extraordinary  if 
she  could  not,  for  even  according  to  the  Nui-se's  own  calculation  the  child  was  very 
nearly  three  years  old.  No  fair  inference  can,  therefore,  be  drawn  from  her  refer- 
ence to  the  '  earthquake,'  and  we  coincide  with  Malone  that  the  tragedy  was  probably 
written  towards  the  close  of  1596.* 

'  Vincentio  Saviolo  his  Practise, 'f  was  first  printed  in  1594,  and  again  in  1595, 
and  the  issue  of  the  second  impression  might  call  Sh.'s  attention  to  it  just  before  he 
began  Romeo  and  Juliet.  .  .  .  We  place  little  reliance  upon  the  allusion  in  II,  iv, 
23,  because  '  the  first  and  second  cause'  are  also  mentioned  in  '  Love's  Lab.  L.,' 
though  the  passage  may,  like  some  others,  have  been  an  insertion  just  prior  to 
Christmas,  1 598. 

We  can  be  by  no  means  sure  that  Marston,  by  the  term  '  Curtain  plaudities,'  did 
not  mean  applauses  at  any  theatre,  for  they  all  had  '  curtains,'  and  we  have  no  trace 
that  any  other  of  our  great  dramatist's  plays  were  acted  at  the  Curtain  Theatre  in 
Shoreditch.  The  subject  must  have  been  a  favorite  with  the  public,  and  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  rival  companies  had  contemporaneous  plays  upon  the  same  story. 
(See  the  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn,  p.  19.)  To  some  piece  formed  upon  the  same 
incidents,  and  represented  at  the  Curtain  Theatre,  Marston  may  have  referred. 

Verplanck.  This  tragedy  bears  the  internal  evidence  of  having  been  written  in 
the  period  of  the  transition  of  Sh.'s  mind  from  a  purely  poetical  to  a  dramatic  cast 
of  thought,  from  the  poetry  of  external  nature  to  that  of  the  deeper  philosophy  of  the 
heart.  It  is  also  remarkable  in  another  point  of  view ;  it  not  only  exhibits  to  us  the 
genius  of  the  Poet  in  this  stage  of  its  progress,  but  it  affords  no  small  insight  into  the 
history  of  the  progress  itself.  [In  comparing  (Q^)  with  Q^  the  writer  says  of  the 
former:]  It  contains  the  whole  of  the  plot,  incidents,  and  characters  of  the  play, 
Afterwards  enlarged  with  its  sweetness  and  beauty  of  imagery  and  luxury  of  lan- 
guage, and  almost  all  its  gaiety  and  wit.  Its  defects  of  taste  are  more  conspicuous, 
because  it  contains,  in  a  much  smaller  compass,  all  the  rhyming  couplets,  the  inge- 
nious and  long-drawn  conceits  and  the  extravagancies  of  fanciful  metaphor  which 
are  still  intertwined  with  the  nobler  beauties  of  this  play.  Among  the  additions  in 
Qj  are  the  several  soliloques  of  Juliet,  and  the  last  speech  of  Romeo  at  the  tomb. 
These  all  breathe  that  solemn  melody  of  rhythm  which  Sh.  created  for  the  appro- 
priate vehicle  of  his  own  mightier  thoughts;  while,  as  compared  with  (Q,),  the  pas- 
sion becomes  more  direct  and  intense,  and  less  imaginative,  and  the  language 
assumes  m^re  of  that  condensed  and  suggestive  cast  which  afterwards  became 
br.bitual  to  his  mind. 

LlX)YD  (Singer,  ed.  2).     How  long  this  play  may  have  been  written  and  acted 

•  The  Registers  of  the  Stationer'*  Company  throw  little  light  upon  the  question  when  Romeo  and 
Juliet  was  first  written. 

*  See  M  alone'i  remarks,  anit  p.  41  j. 


DATE    OF   THE   PLAY.  413 

before  it  was  printed,  is  a  question  we  have  great  interest  in,  but  little  aid  to  set  at 
rest.  In  1598  Sh.  was  thirty-three,  and  the  list  of  plays,  which  can  be  fixed  cer- 
tainly before  that  date,  gives  a  wide  range  of  dramatic  activity.  From  the  character 
of  (QJ  we  cannot  be  certain  that  when  its  proprietors  printed  the  readiest  copy  they 
could  lay  unscrupulous  hands  on,  a  better  version  might  not  already  be  in  possession 
of  the  stage;  waiving  this  uncertainty,  we  should  have  the  conclusion  that  the  cor- 
rected play  of  Fj  took  its  existing  form  between  the  dates  of  (QJ  and  Q^;  and  that 
we  may  confidently  interpret  the  '  newly-augmented,'  &c.,  of  the  later  title-page  as 
equivalent  to  '  recently'  in  our  present  phraseology.  This  is  possible  enough,  for 
though  Romeo  and  Juliet  bears  unquestionable  marks  of  the  poet's  earlier  hand,  it 
asserts  its  title  quite  distinctly  to  take  rank  notwithstanding,  and  in  virtue  of  its 
revision,  beside  even  the  perfection  of  the  Mer.  of  Ven.  As  to  the  original  date  of 
a  Sh.'n  play  on  the  subject  I  am  disposed  to  carry  it  very  far  back,  even  very  closely 
upon  the  commencement  of  the  second  period  of  his  writing  for  the  stage.  The  free- 
dom with  which  rhymes  are  diffused  through  the  earlier  scenes  inclines  me  to  this 
opinion,  and  still  more  so  the  genius  of  the  theme  which  provokes  the  expression  of 
the  feelings  that  ever  flow  most  freely  from  the  poetic  heart,  that  certainly  seized  the 
first  turn  for  indulgence  in  the  life  of  Sh.,  and  could  not  readily  brook  to  be  post- 
poned or  neglected  in  his  art.  Even  (Q J,  however,  has  little  or  no  blank  verse  that 
recalls  the  constrained  measures  of  the  first  group  of  plays. 

Hudson.  We  are  quite  satisfied  from  many,  though  for  the  most  part  undefinable, 
tricks  of  style  that  the  tragedy  in  its  original  state  was  produced  somewhere  between 
1591  and  1595.  The  cast  of  thought  and  imagery,  but  especially  the  large  infusion, 
not  to  say  preponderance,  of  the  lyrical  element,  naturally  associates  it  to  the  same 
stage  of  art  and  authorship  which  gave  us  Mid.  N.  D.  The  resemblance  of  the  two 
plays  in  these  respects  is  too  strong  and  clear,  we  think,  to  escape  any  studious  eye, 
well  practised  in  discerning  Sh.'s  different  styles.  And  a  diligent  comparison  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet  with,  for  example,  the  poetical  scenes  in  I  Hen.  IV,  which  was 
published  in  1598,  will  suffice  for  the  conclusion  that  the  former  must  have  been 
written  several  years  before  the  latter. 

Staunton.  As  Sh.  was  only  thirty-three  years  of  age  when  this  play  was  first  pub- 
lished, it  must  obviously  rank  with  his  early  productions.  But  the  date  of  publica- 
tion is  no  criterion  to  determine  when  it  was  written,  or  when  it  was  first  performed. 
Chalmers  assigns  its  composition  to  the  spring  of  1592;  and  Drake  places  it  a  yeai 
later.  The  belief  in  its  production  at  an  earlier  period  than  that  described  by  Malone 
is  strengthened  by  the  indications  of  matured  reading  and  reflection  which  are  dis- 
played in  the  augmented  Q^  as  compared  with  (QJ.  There  is  also  a  scrap  of  inter- 
nal evidence  which,  as  proof  of  an  earlier  authorship  than  1596,  is  well  entitled  to 
consideration.  [Mr.  Staunton  quotes  Tyrwhitt's  suggestion  in  reference  to  the  great 
earthquake  of  1580,  and  gives  Holinshed's  account  of  it.  Mr.  Knight  also  gives  the 
first  sentence  of  Holinshed's  account,  and  Mr.  Staunton  adds  the  rest  as  follows]  : 
'  The  great  clocke  bell  in  the  palace  at  Westminster  strake  of  it  selfe  against  the 
hammer  with  the  shaking  of  the  earth,  as  diverse  other  clocks  and  bels  in  the  steeples 
of  the  citie  of  London  and  elswhere  did  the  like.  The  gentlemen  of  the  Temple 
being  then  at  supper,  ran  from  the  tables,  and  out  of  their  hall  with  their  kniues  in 
their  hands.  The  people  assembled  at  the  plaie  houses  in  the  fields,  .  .  .  were  so 
amazed  that,  doubting  the  mine  of  the  galleries,  they  made  hast  to  be  gone.  A 
peece  of  the  temple  church  fell  down,  some  stones  fell  from  saint  Paules  church  in 
London :  and  at  Christ's  church  neere  to  Newgate  market,  in  the  sermon  while,  a 
35* 


414  APPENDIX. 

stone  fell  from  the  top  of  the  same  church.'  Such  an  event  would  form  a  memorable 
epoch  to  the  class  which  constituted  the  staple  of  a  playhouse  auditory  in  the  six- 
teenth century;  and  if  an  allusion  to  it  was  calculated  to  awaken  interest  and  fix 
attention,  the  anachronism,  or  the  impropriety  of  its  association  with  an  historical 
incident  of  some  centuries  preceding,  would  hardly  have  deterred  any  playwright  of 
that  age  from  turning  it  to  account.  Unfortunately,  in  the  absence  of  everything  in 
the  shape  of  a  histor>-  of  Sh.'s  writings,  we  can  trust  only  to  inferences  and  conjec- 
tures of  this  description  to  make  even  an  approximate  guess  as  to  the  period  of  their 
production. 

White.  The  (Q  )  bears  upon  its  face  all  the  marks  of  confused  hurry.*  And  for 
the  haste  in  which  it  was  brought  out  there  must  have  been  some  special  reason ;  for 
as  to  the  story  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  that  h.id  been  known  to  the  London  public  for 
years,  and  was  accessible  in  half  a  dozen  shapes.  Indeed,  tliere  is  little  or  no 
ground  for  doubt  that  the  performances  referred  to  on  the  title-page  of  (Q,)  took 
place  between  July,  1596,  and  April,  1597,  and  that  the  publication  was  the  hasty 
effort  to  obtain  the  benefit  of  the  '  great  apjjlause'  which  those  performances  had 
elicited.  Equally  untenable  is  Malone's  opinion  that  Sh.  began  this  play  in  1 59 1, 
and  finished  it  in  1596.  In  his  day,  plays  were  rapidly  written,  or  re-written,  to 
supply  an  immediate  demand,  and  he  was  manifestly  one  of  the  most  busiiess-like  as 
well  as  prolific  of  playwrights.  That  any  dramatist  of  his  period,  and  he  of  all, 
kept  a  play  '  on  the  stocks'  five  years,  is  so  extremely  improbable  as  to  be  believed 
only  upon  positive  and  trustworthy  testimony.  But  on  the  contrary,  that  in  1 591  Sh. 
and  one  or  more  other  *  practitioners  for  the  stage'  composed  a  Romeo  and  yuliet  in 
partnership,  and  that  in  1596  Sh.  '  corrected,  augmented  and  amended'  it,  making  it 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  entirely  his  own,  and  that  it  then  met  with  such  great 
success  that  an  unscrupulous  publisher  obtained  as  much  as  he  could  of  it,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  and  had  the  deficiencies  supplied,  as  well  as  could  be,  by  bits  from  the 
play  of  1591,  and,  when  that  failed,  by  poets  as  unscrupulous  as  himself,  is  entirely 
accordant  with  the  practices  of  that  day,  and  reconciles  all  the  facts  in  this  particular 
case;  even  the  two  that  the  play  contains  a  reference  which  indicates  1591  as  the 
year  when  it  was  written,  and  that  in  1596  it  was  published  in  haste  to  take  advan- 
tage of  a  great  and  sudden  popularity.  This  I  believe  to  be  the  history  of  its  pro- 
duction and  its  publication. 

Dyce.  I  am  inclined  so  far  to  agree  with  Tyrwhitt  that  as  early  as  1591,  Sh.  may 
perhaps  have  been  at  work  on  this  play. 

Halliwell.  The  statement  that  it  was  played  by  Lord  Hunsdon's  servants 
appears  to  indicate  with  tolerable  accuracy  the  date  of  its  first  production.  It  does 
not,  I  imagine,  follow  that  Sh.  was  writing  it  in  1 591,  merely  because  he  makes  the 
Nurse  say  « 'tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years.' 

About  the  year  1660,  Sh.'s  play  was  altered  by  James  Howard  into  a  tragi-comedy, 
in  which  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  not  allowed  to  die.  According  to  Downes,  it  was 
played  by  Davenant's  company  alternately  as  a  tragedy  and  a  comedy.  Pepys,  who 
•aw  a  performance  of  it  on  March  1st,  1661-2,  thus  mentions  it:  'My  wife  and  I  by 
coach,  first  to  see  my  little  picture  that  is  a-drawing,  and  thence  to  the  Opera,  and 
Ihere  saw  Romeo  and  Juliet  the  first  time  it  was  ever  acted,  but  it  is  a  play  of 
itself  the  worst  that  ever  I  heard,  and  the  worst  acted  that  ever  I  saw  these  people 

*  Juho  Danter's  device  bears  the  motto— notably  appropriate  on  the  t'tle-page  of  this  publicatioik— 
Aut  nun^uatH  aut  nunc.' 


THE    TEXT.  415 

do,  and  I  am  resolved  to  go  no  more  to  see  the  first  time  of  acting,  for  they  were  all 
of  them  out  more  or  less.' 

Clarke.  From  a  line  in  the  Nurse's  speech  it  has  been  surmised  that  the  date 
of  the  play's  composition  is  1591.  This  may  possibly  be  a  well-founded  theory; 
but  we  should  be  inclined  to  assign  an  even  still  prior  year  as  the  one  wherein  Sh. 
originally  conceived  and  wrote  this  play.  Youth  thrills  in  its  every  utterance ;  the 
impetuosity  of  youth,  the  faith  of  youth,  the  warmth  and  passionate  impulse  of  youth, 
vibrate  through  its  every  scene  and  speech.  Even  the  old  personages  in  the  play 
express  themselves  with  a  vigour  and  animation,  and  conduct  themselves  with  a 
vivacity  and  precipitancy,  that  are  more  those  of  youth  than  of  age.  All  breathe 
the  voluptuous  intensity  and  childlike  innocence  of  the  spring  of  existence;  the 
lovers  themselves  are  embodiments  of  youthful  ardour  and  of  youthful  purity.  No 
writer  ever  so  beautifully  vindicated  and  so  truthfully  demonstrated  Nature's  divine 
blending  of  the  spirit  of  chastity  with  the  essence  of  passion  in  young  love  as  our  Sh. 
Let  any  one  read  Juliet's  words  from  first  to  last,  and  compare  them  with  those 
uttered  by  others  of  his  women,  characters  more  formed,  more  thoughtful,  more 
educated  than  she  is,  and  see  how  wonderfully  he  has  preserved  the  girl-woman 
throughout.  Not  a  phrase  does  she  utter  that  is  not  perfectly  consistent  with  the 
girl  of  fourteen, — with  the  Italian  girl  of  fourteen ;  brought  up  in  social  retirement, 
seeing  even  her  own  parents  but  at  stated  intervals  and  set  times,  chiefly  associating 
with  her  old  nurse,  and  having  intercourse  with  none  out  of  the  family  and  the  house 
save  with  her  father-confessor.  It  is  the  same  with  Romeo ;  he  is  completely  the 
very  young — even  boy — man.  His  stripling  fancy  for  Rosaline ;  his  sudden  passion 
for  Juliet;  his  rapturous  joy  in  its  blissful  mutuality;  his  impromptu  marriage ;  his 
short-lived  self-restraint  in  the  contention  with  Tybalt,  and  his  as  eager  flinging  him- 
self into  it ;  his  desperation  at  his  sentence  of  banishment,  and  his  springing-up  of 
revived  hope  at  the  Friar's  proposed  plan ;  his  defiance  of  death  even  in  his  bride's 
rums  if  she  will  have  him  stay  with  her ;  his  cheery  trust  in  '  time  to  come'  at  the 
very  instant  of  tearing  himself  away ;  his  happy  dreams  when  absent  from  her ;  his 
anguished  resolve  to  destroy  himself  when  he  hears  of  her  death ;  '  his  betossed  soul' 
as  he  rides  back  to  die  beside  her ;  and  his  imagination  sufi"ering  itself  to  revel  in 
picturings  of  her  beauty  as  she  lies  stretched  on  her  death-bier  before  him  in  the 
moment  he  is  about  to  rejoin  her  for  ever, — are  all  most  true  to  youthful  nature. 
The  author's  own  young  spirit  imbues  the  play ;  it  is  the  delight  of  all  young  readers; 
and  it  makes  those  who  are  old  feel  young  again  as  they  reperuse  it. 


THE    TEXT. 


Knight.  Our  general  reasons  for  founding  the  text  upon  F,,  which  is  in  truth  to 
found  it  upon  Q,,,*  are  as  follows :  The  Q,  was  declared  to  be  '  Newly  corrected, 
augmented,  and  amended.'  There  can  be  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  corrections, 
augmentations,  and  emendations  were  those  of  the  author.    There  are  typographical 

•  Mr.  Knight,  in  both  his  earliest  and  latest  eds.,  states  that  there  is  a  quarto  io  1607.  As  he  doOT 
tot  mention  a  quarto  in  163* ,  this  date  of  1607  may  be  a  misprint  £0. 


41 6  APPENDIX. 

errors  in  this  edition,  and  in  all  editions,  and  occasional  confusions  of  the  material 
trrangement,  which  render  it  more  than  probable  that  Sh.  did  not  see  the  proofs  of 
his  printed  works.  But  that  the  copy,  both  of  the  first  edition  and  of  the  second,  was 
derived  from  him,  is,  to  our  minds,  perfectly  certain.  We  know  of  nothing  in  lite- 
rary history  more  curious,  or  more  instructive,  than  the  example  of  minute  attention, 
as  well  as  consummate  skill,  exhibited  by  Sh.  in  correcting,  augmenting  and  amend- 
ing the  first  copy  of  this  play.  We  would  ask,  then,  upon  what  canon  of  criticism 
can  an  editor  be  justified  in  foisting  into  a  copy  so  corrected,  passages  of  the  original 
copy  which  the  maturer  judgment  of  the  author  had  rejected.  Essentially  the  ques- 
tion ought  not  to  be  determined  by  any  arbitrament  whatever,  other  than  the  judg- 
ment of  the  author.  Even  if  his  corrections  did  not  in  every  case  appear  to  be 
improvements,  we  should  still  be  bound  to  receive  them  with  respect  and  deference 
We  would  not,  indeed,  attempt  to  establish  it  as  a  rule  implicitly  to  be  followed,  that 
an  author's  last  corrections  are  to  be  invariably  adopted ;  for,  as  in  the  case  of  Cow- 
per's  Homer,  and  Tasso's  Jerusalem,  the  corrections  which  these  poets  made  in  their 
first  productions  when  their  faculties  were  in  a  great  degree  clouded  and  worn  out, 
are  properly  considered  as  not  entitled  to  supersede  what  they  produced  in  brighter 
and  happier  hours.  But  in  the  case  of  Sh.'s  Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  corrections  and 
augmentations  were  made  by  him  at  that  epoch  of  his  life  when  he  exhibited  '  all 
the  graces  and  faculties  of  a  genius  in  full  possession  and  habitual  exercise  of 
power.'*  The  augmentations,  with  one  or  two  very  trifling  exceptions,  are  amongst 
the  most  masterly  passages  in  the  whole  play,  and  include  many  of  the  lines  that  are 
invariably  turned  to  as  some  of  the  highest  examples  of  poetical  beauty.  The  correc- 
tions are  made  with  such  exceeding  judgment,  such  marvellous  tact,  that  of  themselves 
they  completely  overthrow  tht  tneory,  so  long  submitted  to,  that  Sh.  was  a  careless 
writer.  Such  being  the  case,  we  consider  ourselves  justified  in  treating  the  labour 
of  Steevens  and  other  editors,  in  making  a  patchwork  text  out  of  the  author's  first 
and  second  copies,  as  utterly  worthless.  We  most  readily  acknowledge  our  own 
particular  obligations  to  them;  for  unless  they  had  collected  a  great  mass  of  mate- 
rials, no  modern  edition  could  have  been  properly  undertaken. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  The  first  Quarto  is  in  two  different  types,  and  was  probably 
executed  in  haste  by  two  different  printers.  It  has  generally  been  treated  as  an 
authorized  impression  from  an  authentic  MS.  Such,  after  the  most  careful  exami- 
nation, is  not  our  opinion.  We  think  that  the  MS.  used  by  the  printer  or  printers 
(no  bookseller's  or  stationer's  name  is  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  title-page)  was 
made  up,  partly  from  portions  of  the  play  as  it  was  acted,  but  unduly  obtained,  and 
partly  from  notes  taken  at  the  theatre  during  representation.  Our  principal  ground 
for  this  notion  is,  that  there  is  such  great  inequality  in  different  scenes  and  speeches, 
and  in  some  places  precisely  that  degree  and  kind  of  imperfectness  which  would 
belong  to  MS.  prepared  from  defective  short-hand  notes.  We  do  not  of  course  go 
the  length  of  contending  that  Sh.  did  not  alter  and  improve  the  play  subsequent  to 
its  earliest  production  on  the  stage,  but  merely  that  (Q,)  does  not  contain  the  tragedy 
as  it  was  originally  represented.  Our  text  is  that  of  Q^,  compared  of  course  with  Q^ 
and  F,,  and  in  some  places  importantly  assisted  by  (Q,).  It  is  remarkable  that  in  no 
edition  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  printed  anterior  to  the  publication  of  F,,  do  we  find 
Sh.'s  name  upon  the  title-page.f  Yet  Meres,  in  his  Palladis  Tamia,  had  distinctly 
assigned  it  to  him  in  1598  ;  and  although  the  name  of  the  author  might  be  purposely 
left  out  in  (QJ,  there  would  seem  to  be  no  reason,  especially  after  the  announcement  by 

•  Coleridge*!  Lit  Rem.  t  See  Halliwell, /i>f/  p.  4^2.     Ed. 


I 


THE    TEXT.  417 

Meres,  for  not  inserting  it  in  the  '  corrected,  augmented  and  amended'  Q^.  But  it  is 
wanting  even  in  Q^,  although  Sh.'s  popularity  must  then  have  been  at  its  height. 
'King  Lear,'  in  1608,  had  been  somewhat  ostentatiously  called  *  M.  William  Shake- 
speare, his,  &c..  Life  and  Death  of  King  Lear;'  and  his  Sonnets,  in  1609,  were  recom- 
mended to  purchasers,  as  '  Shake-speare's  Sonnets,*  in  unusually  large  characters  on 
the  title-page. 

Ulrici.  I  hold  that  F,  has  by  far  the  better  claims  to  our  preference,  notwith- 
standing, or  rather  because  of,  the  fact  that  it  was  printed  entirely  from  Q^,  and  tha* 
where  it  varies  from  the  latter  the  variation  is  to  be  considered  merely  as  a  misprint. 
Heminge  and  Condell,  the  editors  of  F,,  were  the  acknowledged  friends  and  fellow- 
actors  of  Sh.  The  true  original  copies,  that  is  the  Poet's  MSS.,  or  at  least  transcripts 
therefrom,  in  the  possession  of  Sh.'s  company,  were  at  their  command.  It  was, 
therefore,  merely  for  convenience  sake  that  they  reprinted  Q^,  and  because  it  agreed 
with  their  copies.  If  (Q,)  may  not  be  deemed  purely  piratical,  it  is  indubitably  a 
representation  of  the  piece  in  its  earliest,  youthful  shape,  before  it  was  revised  and 
augmented  by  Sh.  himself.  To  adopt  its  readings  is  to  reject  the  improvements  of 
Sh.,  and  thereby  criticise  not  the  edition,  but  the  Poet  himself. 

HtnasoN.  In  our  text  Q^  is  taken  as  the  basis,  and  the  other  old  copies  drawii 
upon  for  the  correction  of  errors,  and  sometimes  for  a  choice  of  readings ;  in  both 
which  respects  (Q,)  is  of  great  value.  The  augmentations  in  Q^  are  much  more 
important  in  quality  than  quantity ;  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Sh.  did  not  carry 
his  older  and  severer  hand  into  some  parts  of  the  play  which  he  left  in  theii 
original  state. 

Staunton.  There  is  every  reason  to  conclude  that  the  numerous  corrections  and 
amplifications  in  Q^  are  exclusively  Sh.'s  own,  since  the  former  evince  the  judgment 
and  tact  of  the  master,  and  the  latter  comprise  some  of  the  finest  passages  of  tha 
play. 

White.  A  consideration  of  the  relations,  the  authority,  and  the  value  of  Q^  and 
Q  (the  latter  of  which  comes  to  us  under  the  authority  of  Sh.'s  fellow-actors) 
involves,  therefore,  an  inquiry  into  the  manner  in  which  the  earlier  was  published, 
the  character  of  the  difference  between  the  two,  and,  it  will  be  found,  even  the 
authorship  of  the  play  as  it  was  first  produced.  The  opinion  has  obtained  that 
the  difference  between  these  two  versions  was  due  to  a  revision  and  elaboration 
of  the  play  as  at  first  written.  This  opinion  has  been  generally  supposed  to  be 
sustained  by  the  manner  in  which  the  changes,  and  even  the  augmentations,  have 
been  worked  into  the  text,  or  rather  elaborated  from  it,  and  also  by  the  maturei 
and  more  philosophical  cast  of  thought,  which  those  who  entertain  this  view  fancy 
they  can  detect  in  the  additions.*  A  careful  study  of  the  two  versions  has  led  me  to 
the  opinion,  that  the  earlier  represents  imperfectly  a  composition  not  entirely  Sh.'s, 
and  that  the  difference  between  the  two  is  owing,  partly  to  the  rejection  by  him  of 
the  work  of  a  co-laborer,  partly  to  the  surreptitious  and  inadequate  means  by  which 
the  copy  for  the  earlier  edition  was  obtained,  and  partly,  perhaps,  but  in  a  very  much 
less  degree,  to  Sh.'s  elaboration  of  what  he  himself  had  written. 

And  first  as  to  the  surreptitious  procurement  of  the  copy  for  the  earlier  edition. 
This  of  course  is  only  to  be  inferred  from  internal  evidence.  The  text  of  Q,  is  not 
only  shorter  than  that  of  Q^,  but  is  so  often  incoherent  that  its  great  corruption  is 

•  After  a  careful  comparison  of  the  principal  passages  in  Q^,  not  found  in  (Qi),  with  those  passage* 
which  are  common  to  both,  I  cannot  detect  the  slightest  trace  of  those  indications  of  the  development 
of  Shakespeare's  genius  which  Mr.  Knight  and  Mr.  Verplanck  find  in  the  added  passages. 

2B 


41 8  APPENDIX. 

manifest ;  and  on  a  comparison  of  the  corrupted  passages  with  the  text  of  Q,,  the 
corruption,  in  most  instances,  seems  unmistakably  due  to  an  imperfect  representation 
of  that  text,  and  not  to  mere  typographical  or  clerical  errors  in  the  printing  or  tran- 
scribing of  another  and  a  briefer. 

Thus  the  passage  I,  iii,  49-57  is  not  in  (Q,) ;  the  cause  apparently  being  that  line 
57  ends  with  the  same  words  as  line  48,  which  misled  the  transcriber  of  the  note* 
taken  at  the  performance.  Just  below,  in  the  same  scene,  yul.  being  asked  if  she 
can  '  like  of  Paris'  love,'  replies,  '  I'll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move,'  &c. 
But  why  should  she  at  that  time  say,  '  I'll  look  to  like  ?'  (QJ  gives  no  occasion  for 
this  reply  of  jhtli^t's,  simply  because  it  omits  La.  Cap.^s  immediately  preceding 
speech  of  sixteen  lines,  wherein  she  says, '  To-night  you  shall  behold  him!  &c.  This 
ipeech  and  the  Nurse's  reply  to  it  were  plainly  a  part  of  the  text  before  the  printing  of 
(Q,).  In  the  famous  balcony  scene  we  find  the  following  passage  in  (QJ  [see  (Q,,) 
lines  682-693].  But  >?<?W(f£>  was  there ;  her  tassel  gentle  had  not  taken  wing.  Such, 
at  least,  is  the  case  according  to  this  text,  where  there  is  no  farewell,  no  reason  appa- 
rent why  Juliet  should  suddenly  find  her  lover  out  (jf  reach  of  her  voice.  We  see 
that  Sh.  never  could  have  written  thus,  and  our  difficulty  is  cleared  up  by  the  cor- 
responding passage  in  Q^.  Again,  when  Rom.  makes  the  appointment  at  Friar 
Lawrence"  cell,  he  says  [in  (Q,),  967],  ^to-morrow  morning,  and  the  Nurse  replies, 
•to-morrow  morning;'  but  in  Q^,  he  says  [II,  iv,  163],  Uhis  afternoon^  and  the 
Nurse  replies,  '  this  afternoon.'  Now  this  variation  is  not  the  result  of  a  correction, 
by  the  author,  of  a  slip  of  memory,  for  in  both  versions  it  is  but  a  few  lines  below, 
though  in  the  next  scene,  that  we  learn  from  yuliet^s  soliloquy  that  the  Nurse  was 
sent  at  nine  in  the  morning,  that  she  was  slow  on  her  errand,  and  that  on  her  return 
Juliet  was  to  go  directly  to  the  Friar's.  The  error  is  the  result  of  forgetfulness  or 
carelessness  on  the  part  of  the  person  who  provided  the  MS.  for  (Q,).  That  such  was 
the  origin  of  this  discrepancy  appears  yet  further  by  a  speech  of  Romeo's  according 
to  (Q,),  just  after  he  enters  the  Friar's  cell.  Conforming  to  his  previous  appointment 
of  the  morning  for  the  marriage,  this  text  makes  Rom.  say,  '  This  morning  here  she 
'pointed  we  should  meet.'  But  this  consistency  operates  rather  against  than  in  favor 
of  the  Shakespearian  origin  of  the  other  passages  in  which  this  word  appears,  for 
any  person  of  ordinary  poetic  apprehension  and  discrimination,  on  reading  the  whole 
of  the  latter  speech,  will  see  clearly  and  at  once  that  it  is  none  of  Sh.'s.  [See  (QJ, 
1028-103 1.]  ^Vho  will  believe  that  this  dribble  of  tame  sense  and  feeble  rhythm 
was  written  by  the  same  man  who  (according  to  the  same  edition)  had  written  in  the 
first  scene  of  the  same  play  the  following  passage  and  others  like  it  ?  [See  (Q,),  63- 
68.]  Again,  when  Jul.  exclaims,  ^All  this  is  comfort'  [see  (Q,),  1248],  we  naturally 
ask.  All  what  is  comfort  ?  There  is  no  reply  short  of  Q^,  where  we  find  these  lines 
interposed:  [See  III,  ii,  102-106].  And  there  we  see  what  ful.'s  comfort  was. 
But  to  look  at  the  very  next  speech  and  the  reply  to  it  in  (Q,),  Jul.  having  asked  the 
Nurse  where  her  father  and  her  mother  are,  to  the  latter's  reply,  she  answers,  '  I,  I, 
when  theirs  are  spent  mine  shall  be  shed,'  &c.  When  what  are  spent  ?  What  shall 
be  shed  ?  Where  is  the  antecedent  of  •  theirs  ?'  We  find  it  only  in  Q^.  Manifestly 
the  first  portion  of  this  line  is  a  forgotten  or  lost  part  of  the  very  text  which  (QJ 
sought  to  give. 

Passing  by,  for  the  sake  of  necessary  brevity,  many  like  instances  of  clearly  im- 
perfect representation  of  the  authorized  version  of  the  play  in  (Q,),  we  come  to  this 
one  in  IV,  v,  38-40.  The  person  who  provided  copy  for  (QJ  was  either  unable  to 
let  down  these  two  lines  and  a  half,  or  could  not  remember  their  phraseology  weU 


THE    TEXT. 


419 


enough  to  imttate  them.  But  he  did  not  forget  their  purport,  and  he  '  lumped  if 
after  this  fashion,  '  Death  is  my  Sonne  in  Law,  to  him  I  giue  all  that  I  haue.^  In 
(Qi)  ^  P^*^  ^^  Rom.^s  recollective  soHloquy  about  the  apothecary  appears  in  this  ex- 
traordinary guise  :  [See  (Q,),  1934-1940].  Our  wonder  at  Sh.'s  ever  describing  an 
apothecary's  shop  as  stuffed  with  beggarly  accounts  of  empty  boxes  is  at  an  end 
when  we  have  traced  the  reporter's  confusion  through  the  text  of  the  authentic  copy, 
and  see  how  he  was  led  to  stuff  the  shop  instead  of  the  alligator,  and  to  jumble  the 
traits  and  conditions  of  the  two  together.  Again,  when,  in  the  last  scene  of  the 
play,  Capulet,  according  to  (Q,),  exclaims :  [See  (Q,),  2134-2136],  we  are  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  phrase, '  the  backe  is  emptie,'  and  no  less  to  discern  what  connection 
there  is  between  the  empty  back  of  Rom.  and  the  dagger  in  the  breast  of  yul.  But 
Q^  helps  us  out  of  our  trouble  by  giving  us  what  the  publisher  of  (QJ  sought  to  give, 
but  was  prevented  by  a  confusion  in  the  notes  from  which  his  text  was  transcribed. 
[See  V,  iii,  201-204.] 

That  the  text  of  (QJ  is,  in  a  great  measure  at  least,  but  a  corrupted  version  of  that 
of  Qj,  which  was  announced  as  '  newly  corrected,  augmented  and  amended,'  and 
upon  which  the  text  of  this  play  in  all  subsequent  editions  has  been  based,  seems 
clear  from  the  comparison  just  made  between  the  two.  That  the  corruption  is  not 
due  to  the  printers,  those  careless  causes  of  so  much  of  our  editorial  toil,  there  is 
evidence  almost  equally  unmistakable  upon  the  pages  of  the  earlier  and  corrupt  edi- 
tion. This  exists  in  the  stage-directions,  which  in  (Q,)  are  of  a  very  singular  character, 
and  were  quite  surely  not  taken  from  a  manuscript  copy  of  the  play  furnished  by  the 
author,  or  surreptitiously  obtained  from  the  theatre,  but  written  down  by  a  person 
who  saw  the  play  passing  before  his  eyes  as  he  wrote,  or  who  called  up  before  his 
mind's  eye  a  memory  of  the  action. 

Stage-directions  are  what  their  name  very  exactly  expresses.  They  are  directions 
for  the  stage,  and  not  for  readers.  They  are  usually  brief  in  terms  and  mandatory 
intone;  directions  to  an  individual,  not  explanations  to  an  audience  or  a  reader. 
This  is  especially  true  of  the  plays  of  our  early  stage,  which  were  not  written  to  be 
read,  but  to  be  acted.  Now,  in  the  first  complete  edition  of  Rom.  and  Jul.  [Q^]  we 
have  a  certain  kind  of  particularity  which  we  do  not  find  in  those  of  the  previous 
and  incomplete  edition  (Q,).*  The  directions  of  (Q,)  are  not  properly  stage-direc- 
tions, which  apply  equally  to  all  actors,  whoever  they  may  be,  that  appear  in  the 
scenes  in  which  they  are  set  down.  The  former,  on  the  contrary,  show  with  what 
particular  action  certain  players  played  the  passages  in  which  they  appear;  and  they 
are  clearly  records,  either  on  the  spot  or  from  memory,  of  what  was  seen  by  the 
person  who  wrote  them  down. 

[I  have  inserted  in  the  Commentary,  p.  148,  an  extract  from  this  portion  of  Mr. 
White's  remarks.]  Ed. 

Another  passage  which  seems  to  be  not  of  a  piece  with  the  body  of  the  play  is 
the  following:  [See  (QJ,  1844-1870,  lines  italicized,  1850,  1851,  1854,  1855, 
1864-1870].  Here  again  the  entire  passage  was  re-written  for  Q,,,  the  order  of  the 
speeches  changed,  and  the  respective  prominence  of  the  characters  of  the  scene 
modified.  But,  although  a  hint  was  plainly  taken  from  the  old  version  for  an  an- 
tiphonal  expression  of  woe,  which  should  caricature  the  style  in  which  the  poets  in 
vogue  in  Sh.'s  boyhood  wrote  such  scenes,  yet  the  purposely  commonplace  character 

•  Mr.  White's  comparison  of  many  of  the  stage-directions  o  (Q,)  and  Qj  may  be  here  omitted 
without  injustice  to  his  admirable  review,  since  the  student  will  loubtless  make  the  comparisons  fet 
wmself  by  referring  to  the  reprint  of  (Qi).  En 


420  APPENDIX. 

of  the  lamentations  in  the  later  version  seems  to  me  not  plainer  than  that  the  bathoi 
of  the  earlier  is  the  result  of  a  hopeless  and  ambitious  flight  at  lofty  sentiment.  In 
this  passage  also  the  lines  in  italic  letter  cannot  be  accepted  as  the  fruits  even  of 
Sh.'s  earliest  dramatic  years. 

There  are  various  other  passages  in  which  I  think  that  I  detect  here  and  there  the 
vestiges  of  a  predecessor  of  our  author,  but  I  shall  notice  only  two  others,  and  they 
are  of  a  different  character  from  those  I  have  cited  above.  [See  (Q,),  2072-2096.]  A 
comparison  of  these  lines  with  those  which  correspond  to  them  in  the  authentic  text 
will  make  it  clear,  I  think,  to  any  student  of  the  subject  that  the  former  are  merely 
an  imperfect  and  garbled  presentation  of  the  latter.  The  other  passage  is  the  follow- 
ing: [See  (Q,),  2171-2183]  It  is  quite  possible  that  these  lines  were  a  part  of  the 
Friar's  speech  as  it  was  first  written ;  for  the  speech  was  plainly  enough  re-written 
for  the  revised  version  of  the  play.  But  if  they  were  a  part  of  the  original  speech, 
that  speech  was  very  surely  not  written  by  Sh. ;  as  every  reader  who  sympathizes 
with  my  appreciation  of  Sh.'s  flow  of  thought  and  verse  will  at  once  decide.  They 
seem  to  me,  however,  to  be  different  in  kind  from  the  rest  of  the  speech  in  (Q,),  as  well 
as  inferior  to  it ;  while  that  speech,  as  a  whole,  is  decidedly  inferior  to  its  counter- 
part in  the  corrected  and  augmented  Q^.  These  two  passages  last  cited  appear  to 
be  the  production  of  some  verse-monger,  who  attempted  to  supply  deficiencies  in  the 
copy  surreptitiously  procured  for  the  publisher  of  (Q,).  In  the  attempt  to  decide  ques- 
tions of  this  kind,  opinion  must,  of  necessity,  seem  arbitrary,  perhaps  be  so.  I  point 
out  one  particular  line  among  those  last  quoted  which  it  is  quite  impossible  to  accept 
as  Sh.'s — «  Whereas  the  sick  infection  remain'd' — and  I  direct  the  reader's  attention 
to  the  phrase  •  for  to'  [2088,  2177],  which  I  have  in  vain  sought  for  in  the  authentic 
text  of  any  of  Sh.'s  works. 

Assuming  that  the  positions  above  taken  have  been  maintained,  we  find  some 
noteworthy  correspondences  between  Rom.  and  yul.  and  Hen.  VI.  in  the  condition 
of  their  text  and  the  internal  evidence  as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  were  pro- 
duced. That  is,  we  find  in  the  case  of  the  tragedy,  as  in  that  of  the  history,  two 
editions  differing  very  greatly,  and  with  evident  purpose,  in  the  language  of  certain 
passages,  while  in  the  language  of  other  passages,  as  well  as  in  characters,  plot, 
and  succession  of  scenes,  they  correspond  exactly ;  and  we  find  that  the  passages 
of  the  earlier  edition  which  were  re-written  for  the  second  have  not  the  traits 
of  Sh.'s  style,  but  those  of  the  inferior  or  the  elder  writers  among  his  contempo- 
raries. We  notice,  too,  the  occurrence  of  a  phrase  in  the  rejected  passages  which 
was  used  in  Sh.'s  day,  although  it  was  then  beginning  to  fall  out  of  vogue,  but  which 
he,  according  to  the  evidence  of  the  authentic  editions  of  his  works,  seems  to  have 
sedulously  avoided ;  and  we  find,  also,  in  the  case  of  the  tragedy,  as  in  that  of  the 
hiitory,  that  not  only  was  the  first  edition  published  without  his  name  as  the  author, 
though  at  a  time  when  he  was  in  high  repute  as  a  dramatist  and  a  poet,  but  that  in  none 
of  the  three  subsequent  editions,  published  during  his  life,  was  it  attributed  to  him. 
But  by  the  side  of  these  points  of  resemblance  we  have  to  place  these  two  of  im- 
portant difference  :  the  direct  testimony  of  Francis  Meres,  and  the  fact  that  no  unim- 
portant part  of  the  variation  of  the  two  versions  of  the  tragedy  from  each  other  is 
manifestly  due  to  an  imperfect  representation  of  the  later  by  the  earlier — caused  in 
some  passages  by  the  unmitigated  failure  in  the  memory  or  defect  in  the  notes  of  the 
person  who  undertook  to  provide  the  MS.  for  the  printer  of  that  version,  in  others  by 
the  attempt  by  an  inferior  writer  to  remedy  such  deficiencies. 

Frcri  these  circumstances  I  draw  the  following  conclusion,  or,  rather,  opinion,  foi 


THE    TEXT.  421 

which  I  cannot  ask  the  consideration  due  to  logical  truth  from  well-established 
premises,  but  which  amounts  in  my  own  mind  to  absolute  conviction :  That  the 
Rom.  and  Jul.  which  has  come  down  to  us  (for  there  may  have  been  an  antecedent 
play  upon  the  same  story)  was  first  written  by  two  or  more  playwrights,  of  whom 
Sh.  was  one ;  that  subsequently  Sh.  re-wrote  this  old  play,  of  which  he  was  part 
author,  making  his  principal  changes  in  the  passages  which  were  contributed  by  his 
co-laborers,  irrespective  of  the  merit  of  what  he  rejected;  that  the  play  was  so  suc- 
cessful in  this  form  as  to  create  at  once  an  urgent  demand  for  an  edition  of  it,  which 
John  Danter  undertook  to  supply ;  and  that,  as  the  players  were  of  course  unwilling 
that  the  public  should  be  enabled  to  enjoy  their  new  play  without  going  to  the 
theatre,  Danter  obtained,  by  the  aid  of  a  reporter,  who  perhaps  had  some  connection 
with  the  play  in  its  previous  form,  a  very  imperfect  and  garbled  copy  of  Sh.'s  new 
work,  the  defects  in  which  were  supplied  partly  by  some  of  the  many  verse-mongers 
ever  ready  in  those  days  to  do  such  jobs,  and  partly  from  the  old  play,  in  the  com- 
position of  which  Sh.  was  but  one  of  two  or  more  co-laborers.  This  play  may  itself 
have  been  intended  to  supply  the  place  in  the  popular  regard  of  the  one  to  which 
Arthur  Brooke  refers,  although  its  authors  went  not  to  that  play,  but  to  the  poem 
(full  of  detail  as  they  found  it)  for  the  incidents,  and  even  for  hints  for  some  of  the 
dialogue  and  the  soliloquies  of  their  work.  And  so,  when  Sh.'s  tragedy  brought  the 
story  of  Rom.  and  fuL  into  new  and  greater  favor, — made  a  sensation,  as  the  man- 
agers and  publishers  say  now-a-days, — it  was  not  printed  as  his,  because  a  play  of 
Rom.  and  Jul.  identical  with  it  in  plot  and  incident  was  already  well  known  to  the 
public.  The  new  play  was  merely  what  the  title-page  announced  it  (not  with  strict 
truth)  to  be — Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  it  was  played  by  the  Lord  of  Hunsdon^s  Servants. 
If  the  name  of  any  author  was  connected  with  the  old  Romeo  and  Juliet,  which  is 
by  no  means  certain,  it  is  not  improbable  that  there  were  two  or  three  persons  known 
to  the  public  as  having  claims  upon  its  authorship ;  and,  according  to  the  estimate 
of  dramatic  labour  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  re-writing  like  that  in  ques- 
tion would  hardly  have  been  regarded  as  giving  Sh.  so  absolute  a  claim  upon  the 
play,  in  its  new  form,  as  to  make  it  necessary,  or,  perhaps,  even  prudent,  for  the 
printer  to  attribute  this  much-applauded  performance  exclusively  to  him.  All  the 
more  would  he  have  refrained  from  using  Sh.'s  name  because  of  the  very  much  gar- 
bled and  interpolated  condition  of  the  text  which,  in  his  piratical  haste,  he  was 
obliged  to  publish.* 

But  what  was  to  the  general  public  of  that  day  only  Romeo  and  Juliet  (the  old 
common  property  of  the  stage),  in  the  form  in  which  it  was  acted  by  the  Lord  of 
Hunsdon's  Servants,  was  to  a  man  of  culture  and  discrimination,  like  Francis  Meres, 
an  original  work,  which  gave  Sh.  the  rank  among  English  dramatists  that  Plau*--* 
and  Seneca  took  among  the  Latins. 

The  true  text  of  Rom.  and  Jul.  is  found  in  F,,  which,  however,  differs  from  that 
of  Qj,  Q  and  Q^  only  by  the  accidents  of  the  printing-ofhce,  to  which  they  were  all 
exposed,  and  in  the  reparation  of  which  they  all  assist  each  other,  though  the  folio 
seems  to  have  suffered  most  from  typographical  corruption.     The  readings  of  (Q,) 


•  Mr.  White  here  has  a  foot-note  in  which,  by  an  extract  from  the  New  York  Tribune  of  April  as, 
i86o,  he  shows  that  at  this  day  the  very  same  mode  of  surreptitiously  obtaining  a  copy  oi  a  popular 
drama  is  practised  which  he  attributes  to  John  Danter  in  the  time  of  Sh.  The  extract  is  from  a  letter 
by  Mr.  Dion  Boucicault  to  the  editor  of  The  Tribune,  wherein  an  account  is  given  of  the  way  in  which 
%  copy  of  his  drama  of  'The  Heart  of  Mid  Lothiai  '  was  surreptitimsly  obtained  by  a  short  hand 
■ritfr.  Ed. 


422 


APPENDIX. 


have  been  adopted  by  most  editors  much  oftener  than  is  warranted  by  their  merit, 
or  by  the  importance  of  that  edition.  Even  were  there  external  and  internal  evi- 
dence to  show  that  that  version  of  the  play  was  authentic,  and  that  if  was  all  Sh.'s, 
the  substitution  of  its  readings  for  those  of  the  revised  and  augmented  texts,  except 
in  extraordinary  instances  of  confusion  and  difficulty,  would  be  an  assumption  of 
editorial  prerogative  that  could  not  be  justified  at  the  bar  of  criticism ;  hardly  at  that 
of  morals.  If  there  be  any  one  right  more  indefeasible  than  all  others,  it  is  that  of 
an  author  over  what  he  has  written.  Publishers  and  politicians  may  disregard  it, 
but  by  men  of  letters  it  should  be  loyally  respected. 

Halliwell.  Although  (QJ  was  a  piratical  edition,  there  is  little  doubt  but  that  it 
b  in  all  essential  particulars  Sh.'s  first  sketch  of  this  drama.  Cuthbert  Burby  retained 
the  copyright  of  Q,  in  his  hands  until  the  22d  of  January,  1606-7,  when  he  assigned 
it  to  Nicholas  Linge,  who  only  kept  possession  of  it  until  the  following  November, 
when  he  parted  with  his  interest  to  John  Smethwicke.  Sraethwicke  held  the  copy- 
right until  his  death,  after  which,  in  1642,  his  son  disposed  of  it  to  Flesher.  During 
the  time  that  Smethwicke  owned  the  play  he  printed  th^ee  editions  of  it.  One  of 
these,  evidently  printed,  as  appears  from  the  character  of  the  type  and  the  orthog- 
raphy,  within  a  few  years,  at  the  utmost,  after  Smethwicke  obUined  the  copyright,  is 
without  date.  It  is  singular  that  the  text  of  this  edition  differs  materially  from  that 
of  Q  ,  being  as  a  rule  a  more  correct  and  reliable  copy.  It  is  very  difficult  to  say 
which  is  the  earlier,  Q  or  the  Quarto  without  date,  the  differences  between  the  texts 
hardly  being  conclusive  of  the  priority  of  the  former.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  after 
some  copies  of  the  undated  edition  had  been  published,  having  Sh.'s  name  on  the 
title-page,  that  name  was  omitted  in  the  copies  which  were  subsequently  issued. 
This  looks  as  if  the  undated  copy  were  published  soon  after  the  entry  in  the  Sta- 
tioners' registers,  most  probably  in  1608;  Sh.'s  name  not  appearing  in  any  known 
copies  of  1609. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  \\Tien  we  compare  the  very  imperfect  text  of  (QJ  (nor  are  its 
imperfections  merely  those  of  a  piratical  edition)  with  the  '  corrected,  augmented, 
and  amended'  text  of  Q,,  we  cannot  doubt  that  the  author  greatly  improved  and 
amplified  the  play  subsequently  to  its  original  appearance  on  the  stage. 

Cambridge  Edition.  After  Sig.  D,  in  (Q,),  a  smaller  type  is  used  for  the  rest  of 
the  play,  and  the  running  title  is  changed. 

An  opinion  has  been  entertained  by  some  critics  that  in  this  (QJ  we  have  a  fairly 
accurate  version  of  the  play  as  it  was  at  first  written ;  and  that  in  the  interval  between 
the  publication  of  (Q,)  and  Q^  the  play  was  revised  and  recast  by  its  author  into  the 
form  in  which  it  appears  in  Q^.  A  careful  examination  of  the  earlier  text  will,  we 
think,  prove  this  notion  to  be  untenable.  Not  to  speak  of  minor  errors,  it  is  impos- 
sible that  Sh.  should  ever  have  given  to  the  world  a  composition  containing  so  many 
instances  of  imperfect  sense,  halting  metre,  bad  grammar,  and  abrupt  dialogue.  We 
believe  that  the  play,  as  at  first  written,  was  substantially  the  same  as  that  given  in 
the  later  editions ;  and  that  the  defects  of  the  first  impression  are  due,  not  to  the 
author,  but  to  the  writer  of  the  MS.  from  which  that  first  impression  was  printed. 
That  MS.  was,  in  all  probability,  obtained  from  notes  taken  in  shorthand  during  the 
representation  ;  a  practice  which  we  know  to  have  been  common  in  those  days.  It 
is  true  that  the  text  of  (Q,)  is  more  accurate  on  the  whole  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  such  an  origin;  but  the  short-hand  writer  may  have  been  a  man  of 
anusual  intelligence  and  skill,  and  may  have  been  present  at  many  representations 
\D  order  to  correct  his  work;  or  possibly  some  of  the  players  may  have  helped  hino 


THE    TEXT.  423 

either  from  memory,  or  by  lending  their  parts  in  MS.  But  the  examples  of  omission 
and  conjectural  insertion  are  too  frequent  and  too  palpable  to  allow  of  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  earliest  text  is  derived  from  a  bona  fide  transcript  of  the  author's  MS. 
The  unusual  precision  of  some  stage-directions  in  (Q,)  tends  to  confirm  our  view  of 
its  origin ;  a  view  which  is  supported  by  the  high  authority  of  Mommsen.  The  por- 
tions of  the  play  omitted  in  (Q,),  though  necessary  to  its  artistic  completeness  and  to 
its  effect  as  a  poem,  are  for  the  most  part  passages  which  might  be  spared  without 
disturbing  the  consecutive  and  intelligible  development  of  the  action.  It  is  possi- 
ble, therefore,  that  the  play  as  seen  by  the  short-hand  writer  was  curtailed  in  the 
representation. 

Qj  was  in  all  likelihood  an  edition  authorized  by  Sh.  and  his  '  fellows,'  and 
intended  to  supersede  the  surreptitious  and  imperfect  (Q,)-  The  play  so  published, 
we  believe,  as  we  have  said,  to  be  substantially  identical  with  the  play  as  at  first 
composed  ;  it  seems,  however,  to  have  been  revised  by  the  author.  Here  and  there 
a  passage  appears  to  have  been  re-written.  Compare,  for  example,  (QJ  lines  1034- 
1053  with  the  corresponding  passages  of  the  later  editions,  II,  vi,  16-36.  In  th'5 
place  assuredly  the  change  must  be  attributed  to  the  author ;  but  we  know  of  no 
other  passage  of  equal  length  where  the  same  can  be  affirmed  with  certainty.  The 
words  ♦  newly  corrected,  augmented,  and  amended,'  found  on  the  title-page  of  Q^, 
may  be  accepted  as  the  statement  of  a  fact,  when  thus  confirmed  by  internal  evi- 
dence. Otherwise,  we  know  that  the  assertions  in  title-pages  or  prefaces  of  that  time 
are  not  to  be  relied  on,  nor  in  this  case  would  the  words  necessarily  mean  more  than 
that  this  second  edition  was  more  correct  and  more  complete  than  the  first.  In  fact, 
the  added  matter  amounts  nearly  to  a  quarter  of  the  whole. 

The  title-page  of  Q^  is  as  follows : 

The  I  MOST  kx-  |  cellent  and  lamentable  |  Tragedie,  of  Romeo  |  and  luliet.  \  Newly  corrected,  aug- 
mented, and  I  amended:  \  As  it  hath  bene  sundry  times  publiquely  acted,  by  the  |  right  Honourable 
the  Lord  Chamberlaine  |  his  Seruants  |  LONDON.  |  Printed  by  Thomas  Creede,  for  Cuthbert  Burby 
and  are  to  |  be  sold  at  his  shop  neare  the  Exchange.  |  1599.  | 

This  is  unquestionably  our  best  authority ;  nevertheless,  in  determining  the  text, 
(Q,)  must  in  many  places  be  taken  into  account.  For  it  is  certain  that  Q^  was  not 
printed  from  the  author's  MS.,  but  from  a  transcript,  the  writer  of  which  was  not 
only  careless,  but  thought  fit  to  take  unwarrantable  liberties  with  the  text.  In  pass- 
ing through  his  hands,  many  passages  were  thus  transmuted  from  poetry  to  prose. 
Pope  felt  this  strongly,  too  strongly  indeed,  for  he  adopted  the  text  of  (QJ  in  many 
places  where  Capell  and  all  subsequent  editors  have  judiciously  recurred  to  Q^. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  no  editor  who  has  not  felt  it  necessary  occasionally  to  call  in 
the  aid  of  the  first.  We  think  that  Mommsen  rates  the  authority  of  Q^  too  highly. 
Any  rare  form  of  word  or  strange  construction  found  in  this  edition  alone,  and  cor- 
rected in  all  that  follow,  may  more  probably  be  assigned  to  the  transcriber  (or  in 
some  cases  to  the  printer)  than  to  Sh.,  whose  language  is  singularly  free  from  archa- 
isms and  provincialisms. 

Q   was  published  in  1609,  with  the  following  title-page: 

The  I  MOST  kx-  |  cellknt  and  |  Lamentable  Tragedie,  of  |  Romeo  and  Juliet.  \  As  it  hath  beene 
tundrie  times  publiquely  Acted,  |  by  the  Kings  Maiesties  Seruants  |  at  the  Globe.  |  Newly  corrected, 
augmented,  and  |  amended  :  |  London  |  Printed  for  John  Smkthvvick,  and  are  to  be  sold  |  at  his  Shap 
in  Saint  Dunstanes  Church-yard,  |  in  Fleetestreete  vnder  the  Dyall  |  1609  |  . 

It  was  printed  from  Q^,  from  which  it  differs  by  a  few  corrf  ctions,  and  more  fre- 
quently by  additional  errors. 
The  next  Quarto  has  no  date. 


424  APPENDIX. 

Its  title-page  bears  for  the  first  time  tht  name  of  the  author.  After  the  word 
'  GLOBE'  and  in  a  separate  line  we  find  the  words:  '  Written  by  W.  Shakespeare^* 
Otherwise,  except  in  some  slight  variations  of  type  and  spelling,  the  title-page  of  the 
andated  Quarto  does  not  differ  from  that  of  Q^.  It  was  also  printed  ^  for  John 
Smethwicke^  without  the  mention  of  the  printer's  name. 

Though  this  edition  has  no  date,  internal  evidence  conclusively  proves  that  it  was 
printed  from  Q  ,  and  that  Q,  was  printed  from  it.     We  therefore  call  it  Q^. 

It  contains  some  very  important  corrections  of  the  text,  none,  however,  that  an 
intelligent  reader  might  not  make  conjecturally  and  without  reference  to  any  other 
authority.  Indeed  had  the  corrector  been  able  to  refer  to  any  such  authority,  he 
would  not  have  left  so  many  obviously  corrupt  passages  untouched. 

The  title-page  of  Q  is  substantially  identical  with  that  of  Q^,  except  that  it  is  said 
to  be  printed  'by  R.  Young  for  John  Smethwicke^  and  dated  1637. 

It  is  printed,  as  we  have  said,  from  Q^.  The  punctuation  has  been  carefully 
regulated  tliroughout,  and  the  spelling  in  many  cases  made  uniform. 

The  text  of  F,  is  taken  from  that  of  Q^.  As  usual,  there  are  a  number  of  changes, 
some  accidental,  some  deliberate,  but  all  generally  for  the  worse,  excepting  the 
changes  in  punctuation  and  in  the  stage-directions.  The  punctuation,  as  a  rule,  is 
more  correct,  and  the  stage-directions  are  more  complete,  in  the  Folio, 

The  text  of  F^  is  printed,  of  course,  from  the  first.  In  this  play  there  are  found  in 
it  a  considerable  number  of  conjectural  emendations,  not  generally  happy,  and 
perhaps  more  than  the  usual  number  of  errors. 

A  careful  study  of  the  text  of  Romeo  and  yuliet  will  show  how  little  we  can  rely 
upon  having  the  tru?;  text,  as  Sh.  wrote  it,  in  those  plays  for  which  the  Folio  is  our 
earliest  authority. 


COSTUME. 

Knight.  Assuming  that  the  incidents  of  this  tragedy  took  place  (at  least  tradi- 
tionally) at  the  commencement  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  costume  of  the  person- 
ages represented  would  be  exhibited  to  us  in  the  paintings  of  Giotto  and  his  pupils, 
or  contemporaries. 

From  a  drawing  of  the  former,  now  in  the  British  Museum,  we  give  the  accompa- 
nying engraving,  and  our  readers  will  perceive  that  it  interferes  sadly  with  all  popular 
notions  of  the  dress  of  this  play. 

The  long  robes  of  the  male  personages,  so  magisterial  or  senatorial  in  their  appear- 
ance, would,  perhaps,  when  composed  of  rich  materials,  be  not  unsuitable  to  the 
gravity  and  station  of  the  elder  Montague  and  Capulet,  and  of  the  Prince,  or  Podesti 
of  Verona,  himself;  but  for  the  younger  and  lighter  characters,  the  love-lorn  Romeo, 
the  fiery  Tybalt,  the  gallant,  gay  Mercutio,  &c.,  some  very  different  habit  would  be 
expected  by  the  million,  and,  indeed,  desired  by  the  artist.  Caesar  Vecellio,  in  his 
•  Habiti  Antichi  e  Modemi,'  presents  us  with  a  dress  of  this  time,  which  he  distinctly 
describes  as  that  of  a  young  nobleman  on  a  love-making  expedition.  He  assigns  no 
particular  date  to  it,  but  the  pointed  cowl,  or  hood,  depending  from  the  shoulders,  the 

*  See  Halliwell's  note,  p.  422,  and  Collier's,  | .  416.   Ea 


COSTUME.  425 

closely-set  buttons  down  the  front  of  the  super-tunic,  and  up  the  arms  of  the  under- 
garment,  from  the  wrist  to  the  elbow,  with  the  peculiar  lappet  to  the  sleeve  of  the 
super-tunic,  are  all  aistinctive  marks  of  the  European  costume  of  the  early  part  of 
the  fourteenth  century. 

The  coverings  of  the  head  were  at  this  time,  besides  the  capuchon,  or  cowl,  here 
seen,  caps  and  hats  of  various  fantastic  shapes,  and  the  chaperon,  or  turban-shaped 
hood,  began  to  make  its  appearance.  No  plumes,  however,  adorned  them  till  near 
the  close  of  the  century,  when  a  single  feather,  generally  ostrich,  appears  placed 
upright  in  front  of  the  cap,  or  chaperon.  The  hose  were  richly  fretted  and  em- 
broidered with  gold,  and  the  toes  of  the  shoes  long  and  pointed. 

The  female  costume  of  the  .<«ame  period  consisted  of  a  robe,  or  super-tunic,  flowing 
in  graceful  folds  to  the  feet,  coming  high  up  in  the  neck,  where  it  was  sometimes 
met  by  the  wimple,  or  gorget,  of  white  linen,  giving  a  nun-like  appearance  to  the 
wearer ;  the  sleeves  terminating  at  the  elbow  in  short  lappets,  like  those  of  the  men, 
and  showing  the  sleeve  of  the  under-garment  (the  kirtle,  which  fitted  the  body 
tightly),  buttoned  from  the  wrist  to  the  elbow  also,  as  in  the  male  costume. 

The  hair  was  gathered  up  into  a  sort  of  club  behind,  braided  in  front,  and  covered, 
wholly  or  partially,  with  a  caul  of  golden  network.  Garlands  of  flowers,  natural  or 
imitated  in  goldsmith's  work,  and  plain  filets  of  gold,  or  even  ribbon,  were  worn  by 
very  young  females.  Artists  of  every  description  are,  in  our  opinion,  perfectly  justi- 
fied in  clothing  the  characters  of  this  tragedy  in  the  habits  of  the  time  in  which  it 
was  written,  whereby  all  serious  anachronisms  would  be  avoided. 

H.  L.  HiNTON  {Booth's  *  Acting  Play").  It  would  be  quite  absurd  at  the  present 
day  to  array  the  characters  of  Sh.  in  the  costume  of  his  own  period,  and  we  are  left 
in  this  matter  to  the  exercise  of  our  own  judgment;  and  good  taste,  as  well  as 
modern  realism,  demands  that  we  should  aim  at  historical  accuracy  of  costume, 
allowing  only  such  modifications  as  the  exigences  of  the  play  may  imperatively 
demand.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  costume  of  the  fourteenth  century  may 
he  obtained  from  the  paintings  of  Giotto  and  his  contemporaries;  the  painters 
selected  from  the  past  or  present  such  modes  as  best  suited  the  subjects  they  treated. 
For  a  faithful  and  complete  representation  of  the  costume  of  this  period  we  must 
look  to  other  sources. 

One  of  the  most  prevalent  articles  of  male  attire  in  all  Europe  at  this  period  was 
a  garment  known  in  France  as  the  cote-hardie.  It  was  a  waistcoat,  or  jacket,  that 
fitted  quite  tight  to  the  form  down  to  the  middle  of  the  thigh,  and  made  of  the  rich- 
est materials,  covered  with  embroidery  and  buttoned  down  the  front,  whilst  a  girdle 
confined  it  over  the  hips.  The  over-sleeves  were  close-fitting  as  far  as  the  elbows, 
and  then  hung  down  in  long  wide  pendants.  A  cloak  of  unusually  great  length 
was  sometimes  worn  over  the  cote-hardie.  It  was  furnished  with  a  row  of  buttons 
on  the  right  shoulder,  and  the  edges  were  frequently  pinked  in  imitation  of  leaves 
or  flowers. 

The  capuchin,  or  hood,  enveloped  the  head  and  shoulders,  and  was  buttoned  close 
up  to  the  chin.  It  had  a  long  queue  that  hung  down  the  back  in  a  point.  Some 
gallants  twisted  it  up  in  a  fantastical  form  and  carelessly  poised  it  on  the  top  of  the 
head,  and  sometimes  even  placed  a  beaver  hat  over  it.  Hats  and  caps  were  also 
worn  in  endless  varieties.  The  sword  hung  from  the  girdle  directly  in  front;  shoes 
were  long  and  pointed. 

In  Fiance  and  Italy  the  cote-hardie  sometimes  is  seen  reaching  nearly  to  the  knees, 
»nd  the  capu(  hin  has  the  addition  of  epauUeres  or  shoulder-pieces,  forming  a  sort  of 
3«* 


42  6  APPENDIX. 

false  sleeve  reaching  nearly  to  tlie  elbows,  from  which  hung  appendages  embroidered 
with  gold,  or  long  ribbons  reaching  to  the  ground. 

The  dress  of  the  ladies  was  no  less  splendid.  Gold  and  silver  glittered  on  their 
garments,  and  precious  stones  became  very  costly  from  the  immense  demand  for 
them.  The  cotehardie,  which,  like  that  of  the  men,  fitted  tight  to  the  shape,  was, 
however,  not  quite  so  long,  hardly  reaching  to  the  middle.  The  comers  were 
rounded  off  in  front.  The  skirt  was  full  and  very  long,  trailing  on  the  ground. 
The  sleeves  were  similar  to  those  worn  by  the  men,  except  that  the  tight  under- 
•leeves  extended  down  on  the  hands.  A  large  cloak,  or  mantle,  of  gold  and  silver 
cloth,  still  more  ample  than  that  worn  by  the  men,  sometimes  completed  this  very 
rich  attire.  Immense  head-dresses  of  almost  every  conceivable  shape  were  preva- 
lent; at  one  time  (about  the  middle  of  the  century)  we  find  the  ladies  wearing  their 
hair,  without  cap,  bonnet,  or  hood,  arranged  in  one  large  plait  on  each  side  of  the 
face,  with  flowers  or  jewels  interspersed.  Their  shoes,  like  the  men's,  were  very 
long  and  pointed. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  in  the  fashion  of  that  age  was  the  emblazonment 
of  almost  every  article  of  dress  with  armorial  colors  and  devices. 


flALLAM. 


{'Introd.  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,'  5th  ed,  vol.  ii,  p.  281,  London,  1855.) — Were 
I  to  judge  by  internal  evidence,  I  should  be  inclined  to  date  this  play  before  the 
Mid.  Sum.  N.  D. ;  the  great  frequency  of  rhymes,  the  comparative  absence  of  Latin- 
isms,  the  want  of  that  thoughtful  philosophy  which,  when  it  had  once  germinated  in 
Sh.'s  mind,  never  ceased  to  display  itself,  and  several  of  the  faults  that  juvenility 
may  best  explain  and  excuse,  would  justify  this  inference. 

In  one  of  the  Italian  novels  to  which  Sh.  had  frequently  recourse  for  his  fable  h« 
had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with  this  simple  and  pathetic  subject.  What  he  found 
he  has  arranged  with  great  skill.  The  incidents  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  are  rapid, 
Tarious,  uninierraitting  in  interest,  sufficiently  probable,  and  tending  to  the  catas- 
trophe. The  .Tiost  regular  dramatist  has  hardly  excelled  one  writing  for  an  infant 
and  barbarian  stage.  It  is  certain  that  the  observation  of  the  unity  of  time  which 
we  find  in  this  tragedy,  unfashionable  as  the  name  of  unity  has  become  in  our  criti- 
cism, gives  an  intenseness  of  interest  to  the  story  which  is  often  diluted  and  dispersed 
in  a  dramatic  history.  No  play  of  Sh.  is  more  frequently  represented  or  honoured 
with  more  tears. 

If  from  this  praise  of  the  fable  we  pass  to  other  considerations,  it  will  be  more 
necessary  to  modify  our  eulogies.  It  has  been  said  above,  of  the  Mid.  Sum.  N.  D., 
that  none  of  Sh.'s  plays  have  fewer  blemishes.  We  can  by  no  means  repeat  this 
commendation  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  It  may  be  said  rather  that  few,  if  any,  are 
more  open  to  reasonable  censure ;  and  we  are  almost  equally  struck  by  its  excellen- 
cies and  its  defects. 

Madame  de  StaSl  has  truly  remarked  that  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  we  have,  more 
than  in  any  other  tragedy,  the  mere  passion  of  love ;  love  in  all  its  vernal  promise, 
full  of  hope  and  innocence,  ardent  beyond  all  restraint  of  reason,  but  tender  as  it  is 
warm.  The  contrast  between  this  impetuosity  of  delirious  joy,  in  which  the  youth- 
ful lovers  are  first  displayed,  and  the  horrors  of  the  last  scene,  throws  a  charm  q^ 
deep  melancholy  over  the  whole.     Once  alone  each  of  them,  in  these  earlier  m» 


HALLAM—MAGTNN.  427 

ments,  is  tombed  by  a  presaging  fear;  it  passes  quickly  away  froir  them,  but  is  not 
lost  on  the  reader.  To  him  there  is  a  sound  of  despair  in  the  wild  effusions  of  their 
hope,  and  the  madness  of  grief  is  mingled  with  the  intoxication  of  their  joy.  And 
hence  it  is  that,  notwithstanding  its  many  blemishes,  we  all  read  and  witness  this 
tragedy  with  delight.  It  is  a  symbolic  mirror  of  the  fearful  realities  of  life,  where 
'  the  course  of  true  love'  has  so  often  '  not  run  smooth ;'  and  moments  of  as  fond 
illusion  as  beguiled  the  lovers  of  Verona  have  been  exchanged  perhaps  as  rapidly, 
not  indeed  for  the  dagger  and  the  bowl,  but  for  the  many-headed  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings of  humanity. 

The  character  of  Romeo  is  one  of  excessive  tenderness.  His  first  passion  for 
Rosaline,  which  no  vulgar  poet  would  have  brought  forward,  serves  to  display  a  con- 
stitutional susceptibility.  There  is,  indeed,  so  much  of  this  m  his  deportment  and 
language  that  we  might  be  in  some  danger  of  mistaking  it  for  effeminacy  if  the  loss 
of  his  friend  had  not  aroused  his  courage.  .  .  .  Juliet  is  a  child,  whose  intoxication 
in  loving  and  being  loved  whirls  away  the  little  reason  she  may  have  possessed.  It 
is,  however,  impossible,  in  my  opinion,  to  place  her  among  the  great  female  charac- 
ters of  Sh.'s  creation. 

Of  the  language  of  this  tragedy  what  shall  we  say  ?  It  contains  passages  that 
every  one  remembers,  that  are  among  the  nobler  efforts  of  Sh.'s  poetry,  and  many 
short  and  beautiful  touches  of  his  proverbial  sweetness.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
faults  are  in  prodigious  number.  The  conceits,  the  phrases  that  jar  on  the  mind's 
ear,  if  I  may  use  such  an  expression,  and  interfere  with  the  very  emotion  the  poet 
would  excite,  occur  at  least  in  the  first  three  acts  without  intermission.  It  seems  to 
have  formed  part  of  his  conception  of  this  youthful  and  ardent  pair  that  they  should 
falk  irrationally.  The  extravagance  of  their  fancy,  however,  not  only  forgets  reason, 
but  wastes  itself  in  frigid  metaphors  and  incongruous  conceptions;  the  tone  of 
Romeo  is  that  of  the  most  bombastic  commonplace  of  gallantry,  and  the  young  lady 
differs  in  being  only  one  degree  more  mad.  The  voice  of  virgin  love  has  been 
counterfeited  by  the  authors  of  many  fictions :  I  know  none  who  have  thought  the 
style  of  Juliet  would  represent  it.  Nor  is  this  confined  to  the  happier  moments  of 
their  intercourse.  False  thoughts  and  misplaced  phrases  deform  the  whole  of  the 
third  act.  It  may  be  added  that,  if  not  dramatic  propriety,  at  least  the  interest  of 
the  character  is  affected  by  some  of  Juliet's  allusions.  She  seems,  indeed,  to  have 
profited  by  the  lessons  and  language  of  her  venerable  guardian ;  and  those  who 
adopt  the  edifying  principle  of  deducing  a  moral  from  all  they  read  may  suppose 
that  Sh.  intended  covertly  to  warn  parents  against  the  contaminating  influence  of 
such  domestics.  These  censures  apply  chiefly  to  the  first  three  acts ;  as  the  shadows 
deepen  over  the  scene  the  language  assumes  a  tone  more  proportionate  to  the  inter- 
est :  many  speeches  are  exquisitely  beautiful,  yet  the  tendency  to  quibbles  is  nevei 
wholly  eradicated. 

MAGINN. 

('5/4.  Papers^  London,  i860.) — I  consider  Romeo  designed  to  represent  the  charac- 
acter  of  an  unlucky  man — a  man  who,  with  the  best  views  and  fairest  intentions,  is 
perpetually  so  unfortunate  as  to  fail  in  every  aspiration,  and,  while  exerting  himself  to 
die  utmost  in  their  behalf,  to  involve  all  whom  he  holds  dearest  in  misery  and  ruin. 
Had  any  other  passion  or  pursuit  occupied  Romeo,  he  would  have  been  equally 
tnlucky  as  in  his  love.     Ill-fortune  has  marked  him  for  her  own.     From  beginning 


428  APPENDIX. 

ti)  end  he  intends  the  best ;  but  his  interfering  is  ever  for  ;he  worst.  Everything 
glides  on  in  smooth  current  at  Capulet's  feast  till  the  appearance  of  him  whose  pres- 
ence is  deadly.  Romeo  himself  is  a  most  reluctant  visitor.  He  apprehends  that  the 
consequences  of  the  night's  revels  will  be  the  vile  forfeit  of  a  despised  life  by  an 
untmiely  death,  but  submits  to  his  destiny.  He  foresees  that  it  is  no  wit  to  go,  but 
consoles  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  '  means  well  in  going  to  this  masque.'  His 
intentions,  as  usual,  are  good;  and,  as  usual,  their  consequences  are  ruinous.  Vainly 
does  Romeo  endeavor  to  pacify  the  bullying  swordsman,  Tybalt ;  vainly  does  he 
decline  the  proffered  duel.  His  good  intentions  are  again  doomed  to  be  frustrated 
There  stands  by  his  side  as  mad-blooded  a  spirit  as  Tybalt  himself,  and  i.'erru*do 
takes  up  tlie  abandoned  quarrel.  The  star  of  the  unlucky  man  is  ever  in  the  ascend- 
ant. His  ill-omened  interference  slays  his  friend.  Had  he  kept  quiet  the  issue 
might  have  been  different ;  but  the  power  fhat  had  the  steerage  of  his  course  had 
destined  that  the  uplifting  of  his  sword  was  to  be  the  signal  of  death  to  his  very 
friend.  And  when  the  dying  Mercutio  says,  '  \Miy  the  devil  came  you  between  us? 
I  was  hurt  under  your  arm,'  he  can  only  offer  the  excuse,  which  is  always  true  and 
always  unavailing, '  I  thought  all  for  the  best.'  Well,  indeed,  may  Friar  Lawrence* 
address  him  by  the  title  'tliou  fearful  man  I' — as  a  man  whose  career  through  life  ij 
calculated  to  inspire  terror. 

The  mode  of  his  death  is  chosen  by  himself,  and  in  that,  he  is  unlucky  as  in  every- 
thing else.  Utterly  loathing  life,  the  manner  of  his  leaving  it  must  be  instantaneous. 
He  stipulates  that  the  poison  by  which  he  shall  die  shall  not  be  slow  of  effect.  He 
leaves  himself  no  chance  of  escape.  Instant  death  is  in  his  hand ;  and  thanking  the 
true  apothecary  for  the  quickness  of  his  drugs,  he  scarcely  leaves  himself  a  moment 
with  a  kiss  to  die.  If  he  had  been  less  in  a  hurry, — if  he  had  not  felt  it  impossible 
to  delay  posting  off  to  Verona  for  a  single  night, — if  his  riding  had  been  less  rapid. 
or  his  medicine  less  sudden  in  its  effect,  he  might  have  lived.  The  Friar  was  at  hand 
to  release  Juliet  from  her  tomb  the  very  instant  after  the  fatal  vial  had  been  emptied- 
That  instant  was  enough  :  the  unlucky  man  had  effected  his  purpose  just  when  there 
was  still  a  chance  that  things  might  be  amended.  Haste  is  made  a  remarkable 
characteristic  of  Romeo, — because  it  is  at  once  the  parent  and  the  child  of  uniform 
misfortune.  As  from  the  acorn  springs  the  oak,  and  from  the  oak  the  acorn,  so  does 
the  temperament  that  inclines  to  haste  predispose  to  misadventure,  and  a  continuance 
of  misadventure  confirms  the  habit  of  haste.  A  man  whom  his  rashness  has  made 
continually  unlucky,  is  strengthened  in  the  determination  to  persevere  in  his  rapid 
movements  by  the  very  feeling  that  the  '  run'  is  against  him,  and  that  it  is  of  no  use 
to  think.  In  the  case  of  Romeo,  he  leaves  it  all  to  the  steerage  of  Heaven, — i.  e.,  to 
the  heady  current  of  his  own  passions ;  and  he  succeeds  accordingly.  All  through 
the  play  care  is  taken  to  show  his  impatience.     A  gentleman  he  was  in  heart  and 


•  Is  there  rot  some  mistaki  in  the  length  of  time  that  the  sleeping  draught  is  to  occupy,  if  we  cou- 
■ider  the  text  of  the  Friar  s  speech  as  it  now  stands  to  be  correct?  [See  IV,  i,  105,  'Thou  shalt  continue 
two  and  forty  hours.']  Juliet  retires  to  bed  on  Tuesday  night  at  a  somewhat  early  hour.  Her  mother 
nys,  after  she  departs,  ''Tis  now  near  night.'  Say  it  is  eleven  o'clock  :  forty-two  hours  from  that  hour 
bring  us  to  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  Thursday ;  and  yet  we  find  the  time  of  her  awakening  fixed 
in  profound  darkness,  and  not  long  before  the  dawn.  We  should  allow  at  least  fn  hours  more,  and 
read,  ^  tv>o  and  fifty  hours,'  which  would  fix  her  awakening  at  three  o'clock  in  tne  rooming,  a  time 
which  has  been  marked  in  a  former  scene  as  the  approach  of  day.  In  IV,  iv,  4,  Capulet  says,  '  'tis 
three  o'clock.'  Immediately  after  [IV,  iv,  ji]  he  says,  'Good  faith,  'tis  day.'  This  observation  may 
appear  tuperfiuously  minute,  but  those  who  take  the  pains  of  reading  the  play  critically  will  find  that 
it  is  d«  'ed  throughout  wit'.i  a  most  exact  attention  to  hours.     We  can  rnie  almost  everv  event 


ALLEN. 


429 


soul.  All  his  habitual  companions  loved  him  :  Benvolio  and  Mercutio,  who  repre- 
sent the  young  gentlemen  of  his  house,  are  ready  to  peril  their  lives,  and  to  strain  all 
their  energies,  in  his  service.  His  father  is  filled  with  anxiety  on  his  account,  so 
delicate  that  he  will  not  venture  to  interfere  with  his  son's  private  sorrows,  while  he 
desires  to  discover  their  source,  and,  if  possible,  to  relieve  them.  The  heart  of  his 
mother  bursts  in  his  calamity ;  the  head  of  the  rival  house  bestows  upon  him  the 
warmest  panegyrics ;  the  tutor  of  his  youth  sacrifices  everything  to  gratify  his  wishes ; 
his  servant,  though  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet  de  chambre,  dares  not  remonstrate 
with  him  on  his  intentions,  even  when  they  are  avowed  to  be  savage-wild,  but  with 
an  eager  solicitude  he  breaks  his  commands  by  remaining  as  close  as  he  can  venture 
to  watch  over  his  safety.  Kind  is  he  to  all.  With  all  the  qualities  and  emotions 
which  can  inspire  affection  and  esteem, — with  all  the  advantages  that  birth,  heaven, 
and  earth  could  at  once  confer, — with  the  most  honourable  feelings  and  the  kindliest 
intentions, — he  is  eminently  an  unlucky  man.  The  record  of  his  actions  in  the  play 
does  not  extend  to  the  period  of  a  week ;  but  we  feel  that  there  is  no  dramatic  strain- 
ing to  shorten  their  course.  Everything  occurs  naturally  and  probably.  It  was  his 
concluding  week ;  but  it  tells  us  all  his  life.  He  was  born  to  win  battles,  but  to  lose 
campaigns.  If  we  desired  to  moralize  with  the  harsh- minded  satirist,  who  nevei 
can  be  suspected  of  romance,  we  should  join  with  him  in  extracting  as  a  moral  from 

the  play — 

*  Nullum  numen  habes,  si  sit  prudentia ;  nos  te 
Nos  &cimus,  Fortuna,  deam,  coeloque  locamus ;' 

and  attribute  the  mishaps  of  Romeo,  not  to  want  of  fortune,  but  of  prudence.  Phil- 
osophy and  poetry  differ  not  in  essentials,  and  the  stern  censure  of  Juvenal  is  just. 
But  still,  when  looking  on  the  timeless  tomb  of  Romeo,  and  contemplating  the  short 
and  sad  career  through  which  he  ran,  we  cannot  help  recollecting  his  mourning 
words  over  his  dying  friend,  and  suggest  as  an  inscription  over  the  monument  of  the 
luckless  gentleman, 

'  I   THOUGHT  ALL   FOR   THE   BEST.' 

ALLEN. 

One  or  two  of  the  emendations  of  mine,  to  which  the  Editor  has  chosen  to  give  a 
place  in  his  textual  notes  among  their  betters,  are  of  such  a  nature,  and  are  indicated 
in  such  a  manner,  as  to  require  a  few  words  of  explanation.  I  refer  (as  the  most 
important  of  the  set)  to  my  reading  ThaC  runaway's  eyes,  with  no  other  change  than 
inserting  an  apostrophe  after  the  final  t  in  That.  I  do  this  to  indicate  that  the  defi- 
nite article  is  present  there  in  full  life  and  force ;  that  it  was  there  in  the  mind  of 
the  Poet  and  in  that  of  those  who  heard  the  line  spoken  from  the  stage ;  and  that  it 
would  be  there  for  us,  also,  if  the  grammarian  and  the  elocutionist  had  not  trained 
us  to  a  system  of  spelling  and  reading  and  hearing,  of  which  our  ancestors  had  been 
all  but  innocent.  I  call  the  actual  presence  of  the  article  there  important,  because, 
without  it  every  tolerable  interpretation,  that  does  not  call  for  the  substitution  of 
some  other  word  for  runaways,  is  more  or  less  lame.  Thec/bald  felt  this,  and  there- 
fore (to  support  the  interpretation  of  Warburton)  went  abroad  to  fetch  in  the  article 
(with  the  vowel  elided,  metri grati&)  from  without.  Halpin's  interpretation  has  the 
«ame  need  of  the  article ;  but  Halpin  was  an  Irishman,  and  magnanimously  ignored 
any  such  necessity.  Others  found,  in  the  absence  of  the  article,  a  justification  of 
their  more  or  less  violer*.  changes  of  text. 


430  APPENDIX. 

I  indicate  the  actual,  though  latent,  presence  of  the  article  by  the  sign  of  the  2.\ki^ 
trophe,  because  the  apostrophe  is  the  sign  of  elision,  and  elision  is  merely  absorp- 
tion, not  omission.  I  do  so  because  (moreover)  the  compositor  of  F,  has  so  used  the 
apostrophe  in  one  or  two  cases  parallel  with  this. 

If  it  seem  strange  that  such  a  word  as  the  should  be  absorbed  by,  and  be  present 
in,  a  final  /,  I  can  remove  the  strangeness  by  merely  stating  the  fact,  that  in  Northern 
English  th  in  several  words  (as  the,  thou,  thy,  &c.)  was  (and  still  is)  pronounced  like 
t  alone.     The  case,  therefore,  is  simply  that  of  the  absorption  of  one  /  by  another. 

Now  Walker  ascertained,  by  his  Porsonian  process,  that  s  and  other  sibilants  or 
quasi-sibilants,  when  immediately  following  others,  were  by  Sh.  (and  his  contempo 
raries)  often  omitted  both  in  pronouncing  and  in  spelling.  This  phenomenon  I 
would  refer  to  a  law  of  the  language,  in  pursuance  of  which  the  organs  of  speech 
abhor  the  immediate  repetition  of  difficult  or  disagreeable  articulations — not  sibilants 
alone,  but  nasals  also,  gutturals,  and  especially  dentals  (or  /  sounds.) 

Such  being  the  case — certain  sounds  being  absorbed,  in  pronunciation,  by  a  like 
preceding  sound,  and  th  being  often  pronounced  like  / — Sh.,  in  certain  cases,  wrote 
as  he  pronounced.  He  wrote  phonetically.  He  took  no  pains  to  indicate  to  the  eye 
that  of  which  he  gave  no  notice  to  the  ear.  He  wrote  with  the  hearer,  and  not  the 
reader,  in  his  mind's  eye.  But  the  reader  of  that  day  read  as  he  would  have  heard, 
and  drew  the  same  sense  from  the  page,  printed  without  interpretative  marks 
addressed  to  the  eye,  as  he  would  have  drawn  from  the  same  matter  addressed  to  the 
ear.  We  are  trained  to  deal  with  the  printed  page  so  entirely  otherwise,  that  we  see 
defects  in  the  original  text  where  none  exist,  and  proceed  to  amend  them  by  thrust- 
ing words  into  the  supposed  gaps,  when  we  should  fully  meet  all  the  demands  even 
of  the  modem  eye  by  merely  indicating  (as  I  have  done)  the  actual  presence  of  what 
had  been  treated  as  absent. 

I  will  now  allow  a  few  specimens  of  this  kind  of  emendation  to  tell  their  own 
icory.     And  first  for  GUTTURALS : 

Macbeth  I,  iv,  I : 

Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  f  or*  [=  or  are]  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  retum'd  ? 

Macbeth  II,  iii,  137  : 

The  near'  [==  nearer]  in  blood, 
The  nearer  bloody. 

Nasals: 

Romeo  and  Juliet  II,  ii,  72 : 

Alack  I    There  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye. 
Than'  ["» than  in\  twenty  of  their  sworda. 

Sonnet  xciii,  4 : 

Thy  looks  with  me,  thy  heart  in*  [■■  in  an\  other  plac«. 

Merchant  of  Venice  III,  ii.  296 : 

And  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honour  more  appears 
Than'  [^^  than  <n]  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy. 

Examples  of  DENTAUS  are  far  more  frequent : 
Tempeft  I,  ii,  210: 

All  but'  [•>  hui  tkt\  manners 
Plunged  in  the  foamin;  brine. 


431 


ALLEN. 

Winter's  Tale  IV,  iv,  693  : 

'Pray  heartily  he  be  at'  [=  at  the\  Palace:* 
ahello  V,  ii,  353  : 

Of  one  whose  subdued  eye* 
Drop'  [=  drop{\  tears. 
King  Lear  III,  vii,  51 : 

Wast  thou  not  charged  at'  [=  at  thy\  periL 

Macbeth  IV,  iii,  229 : 

Let  grief 
Convert  to  anger ;  blunt  not'  [=>  not  thy\  heart,  enrage  it. 

As  You  Like  It  II,  vi,  5  : 

Comfort'  [=  comfort  thee\  a  little. 
King  Lear  II,  i,  89 : 

How  dost'  [=  dost  tkou\  my  lord  ? 

compared  with  3  H.  VI :  IV,  iv,  120 : 

Were  shame  enough  to  shame  then  wert  thou  not  sbameli 

where  we  should  write,  '  wert '  not  shameless.' 
Much  Ado  IV,  i,  56 : 

You  seem'  [=seemed'\  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb. 

In  Sonnet  cxlix,  2,  after  the  absorption  of  the  /,  the  two  words  are  rojide  into  one  . 

When  I,  agaiii!t  myself^  with  thee  partake  (for  part  take.)  t  \ 

These  are  but  a  tithe  of  the  instances  that  have  occurred  to  me  in  the  Sonnets, 
and  in  only  half  a  dozen  plays  of  Sh.  To  discuss  and  illustrate  even  the  few  I  have 
thus  produced  would  require  a  dissertation,  instead  of  this  brief  note. 


The  following  emendation  was  accidentally  omitted  in  its  place.  I,  i,  195,  for 
/<oj/read  left: 

Ben.    An  if  you  Uave  me  so,  you  do  me  wrong. 
Rom.     Tut  I     I  have  Uft  myself;  I  am  not  here ; 
This  is  not  Romeo,  he's  some  other  where. 

It  was  exactly  in  Romeo's  manner,  in  this  dialogue,  that  he  should  take  up  the 
very  word  of  Benvolio  in  his  answer.  %  Nothing  was  easier  than  for  the  transcriber 
or  compositor  of  that  day  to  mistake  y  for  the  long  s,  and  vice  versd.  Compare  Cori- 
olanus  I,  iv,  55,  where  for  left  we  should  probably  read  lost. 

In  I,  i,  125,  I  proposed  to  substitute  more  for  most,  because  the  logic  of  the  pas- 
sage seems  absolutely  to  require  it :  I  was  then  most  eager  to  find  a  place,  in  which 
more  than  myself  might  not  be  found,  because  I  alone  was  already  one  too  many. 
Sh.  was  not,  moreover,  the  man  (in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  at  least)  to  let  slip  the  chance 
of  running  through  the  Degrees  of  Comparison,  many,  more,  most. 

*  In  this  particular  case,  the  apostrophe  appears  in  Fi. 

t  Chaucer  had  already  done  the  same  thing  {Pardonere't  Tale,  13967) : 

'  Sour  is  thy  breath,  foul  ariow  (=  art  thou)  to  embrace. 
%  This  cannot  be  called  a  conceit  without  a  parallel,  for  Racine  has  the  same  in  his  Pbidre,  Act  II : 
'Maintenant  je  me  cherche,  et  ne  me  trouve  plus.' 


432  APPENDIX 


CHATEAUBRIAND. 

{*  Skakspere  ou  Shakspeare,'  1801.)— How  touching  in  this  scene  (HI,  v,  1-36) 
b  the  contrast  of  the  charms  of  the  morning  and  of  the  last  happiness  of  the  young 
couple  with  the  horrible  catastrophe  which  is  so  soon  to  overwhelm  them.  It  is 
simpler  than  the  Greek,  and  less  pastoral  than  Aminta  and  the  Pastor fido.  I  know 
only  one  scene,  in  an  Indian  drama  in  Sanskrit,  which  at  all  corresponds  to  the  fare- 
wells of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  it  is  only  in  the  freshness  of  its  fancy,  and  not  at  all 
in  dramatic  interest.  Sakoontala,  when  about  to  leave  her  father's  abode,  feels  hei 
self  held  back  by  her  dress  : 

Sakoontali.     What  can  this  be  fastened  to  niy  dress  ?  I  Tumt  r<mna., 

Kanwa.     My  daughter, 

It  is  the  little  fawn,  thy  foster-child. 
Poor  helpless  orphan  !  it  remembers  well 
How  with  a  mother's  tenderness  and  love 
rhou  didst  protect  it,  and  with  grains  of  rice 
From  thine  own  hand  didst  daily  nourish  it. 
Sakoontald.     My  poor  little  fawn,  dost  thou  ask  to  follow  an  unhappy  wretch  who  hesitates  not  ta 
desert  her  companions?    When  thy  mother  died,  soon  after  thy  birth,  I  supplied  her  place,  and  reared 
thee  with  my  own  hand  ;  and  now  that  thy  second  mother  is  about  to  leave  thee,  who  will  care  for  thee? 
My  father,  be  thou  a  mother  to  her.     My  child,  go  back,  and  be  a  daughter  to  my  father.* 

^  (Moves  on  weeping.') 

.  ,  ,  It  is  to  be  remarked  in  general  that  Sh.  is  very  fond  of  these  contrasts.  He 
places  gaiety  alongside  of  sadness,  he  mingles  festivities  and  shouts  of  joy  with  fune- 
ral pomp  and  shrieks  of  grief.  The  musicians  summoned  to  Jviliet's  marriage  arrive 
but  in  time  to  attend  her  to  the  grave ;  indifferent  to  the  grief  of  the  household 
they  indulge  in  jokes,  and  talk  of  matters  utterly  foreign  to  the  tragedy, — who  does 
not  here  confess  the  truth  of  nature? — who  does  not  feel  the  bitterness  of  this  pic- 
ture?— who  lias  not  witnessed  scenes  precisely  similar?  These  effects  were  not 
unknown  to  the  Greeks,  and  many  traces  are  found  in  Euripides  of  these  nalvetii 

which  Sh.  mingles  with  deepest  tragedy. 

******* 

But  the  admirers  of  the  tragic  and  comic  genius  of  the  English  poet  seem  to  me 
to  be  much  deceived  when  they  applaud  the  naturalness  of  his  style.  Sh.  is  natural 
in  his  sentiments  and  ideas,  never  in  his  expressions,  except  in  those  fine  scenes 
where  his  genius  rises  to  its  highest  flight ;  yet  in  those  very  scenes  his  language  is 
often  affected ;  he  has  all  the  faults  of  the  Italian  writers  of  his  time ;  he  is  emi- 
nently wanting  in  simplicity.  His  descriptions  are  inflated,  distorted ;  they  betray 
the  badly-educated  man,  who,  not  knowing  the  gender,  nor  the  accent,  nor  the 
exact  meaning  of  words,  introduces  poetic  expressions  at  hap-hazard  into  the  most 
trivial  situations.  Who  can  repress  a  groan  at  the  sight  of  an  enlightened  nation,  that 
counts  among  its  critics  a  Pope  and  an  Addison,  going  into  raptures  over  the  descrip- 
tion of  an  Apothecary  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  ?  It  is  the  most  hideous  and  disgusting 
burlesque.  True  it  is  that  a  flash  of  lightning  illumines  it,  as  in  all  Sh.'s  shadows. 
Romeo  utters  a  reflection  on  the  unfortunate  wretch  who  clings  so  closely  to  life  bur- 
dened though  he  be  with  every  wretchedness.  It  is  the  same  sentiment  that  Homer, 
with  so  much  nalveti,  puts  in  the  mouth  of  Achilles,  in  Hades :  '  I  would  rather  be 

•  'SakocntalA,  or  The  LoU  Ring,'  trans,  from  the  Sanskrit  of  Kalioasa,  by  MoN'SR  Williams 
pi  i^.     Hertford.  1S55.     Ed. 


GIRARDIN.  433 

the  slave,  on  the  earth,  to  a  poor  laborer,  with  scanty  means  of  living,  than  to  reign 
a  sovereign  in  the  empire  of  shades.'* 

SAINT-MARC   GIRARDIN. 

(^Cours  de  LitUraiure  Dramatique^  vol.  i,  p.  98.  Paris,  1845.) — There  is  m 
English  literature  a  very  singular  taste  for  death.  Whatever  is  mysterious  and 
unknown  in  the  idea  of  death,  whatever  is  horrible,  nay,  repulsive,  in  its  attributes, 
seems  to  possess  a  peculiar  charm  to  the  English  mind.  It  is  curious  to  note  this 
taste  for  death  in  Sh.'s  heroes.  It  is  not  alone  Hamlet,  melancholy  and  gloomy,  that 
loves  to  dwell  upon  this  idea ;  the  young  and  beautiful  Juliet,  before  taking  the  sleep- 
ing draught,  does  not  think  of  Romeo  and  Romeo  alone,  who  is  to  come  and  deliver 
her  from  the  tomb ;  her  love  never  enters  her  thoughts,  but  she  dwells  with  terror  on 
the  funeral  vault  in  which  she  must  be  laid,  on  that  abode  of  death  and  ghosts ;  she 
describes  the  frenzy  which  may  seize  her,  and  how  she  may  profane  the  bones  of  her 
ancestors.  This  description  of  Juliet's,  which  seems  hardly  natural,  does  not,  how- 
ever, displease  the  English,  and  it  testifies,  in  their  literature,  to  this  taste  for  the 
accompaniments  of  death.  Romeo,  too,  appears,  beyond  measure,  delighted  in  the 
tomb  of  the  Capulets.  I  know  that  he  finds  there  his  Juliet  again,  but,  if  I  dare  say 
what  I  think,  no  hero  of  Homer's  nor  Sophocles's,  no  Greek  nor  even  an  Italian  lover, 
would  ever  dream,  as  did  Romeo,  of  thinking  Juliet,  when  dead,  more  lovely  than 
when  living ;  his  passion  would  not  be  intensified  by  the  abode  in  which  he  found 
his  betrothed.  In  Sophocles,  Haemon  killed  himself  at  the  tomb  of  Antigone,  as  does 
Romeo  in  the  tomb  of  Juliet ;  but  Sophocles  does  not  show  us  this  scene  of  love  and 
death  ;  gloomy  vaults  do  not  accord  with  ideas  of  love  and  marriage  in  Greek  art. 
But  in  Romeo's  case,  on  the  contrary,  the  horror  redoubles  his  ardour;  he  feels  more 
impassioned,  more  enthusiastic,  more  loving,  if  I  may  dare  to  say  so,  not  merely 
because  this  is  the  last  time  that  he  will  contemplate  Juliet's  beauties,  but  because — 
am  I  deceived  ? — these  funereal  scenes  harmonize  with  the  fancy  of  this  lover,  the  cre- 
ation of  Sh.'s  genius.  Note  his  words ;  he  speaks  with  neither  horror  nor  disgust — of 
what  ? — of  the  very  worms  which  are  to  devour  his  adored  one.  Thus  did  he  picture 
Juliet,  and  never  did  he  love  her  more  fondly,  no !  not  even  when  he  left  her  at  the 
first  beams  of  the  morning,  at  the  first  song  of  the  lark ;  not  even  when  the  dawn 
shone  upon  their  loving  adieux  were  Romeo's  words  so  burning  as  in  this  frightful 
charnel-house;  nature  awaking  wreathed  in  smiles  from  a  night  of  love  spoke  less 
impressively  to  his  heart  than  the  aspect  of  the  grave.  Read  over  V,  iii,  91-96,  and 
say  if  Juliet,  when  alive,  was  ever  so  ardently  adored.  Singular  imagination  that  is 
inspired  and  warmed  by  thoughts  of  death !  strange  and  novel  poetry,  nothing  akin 
to  the  Greek,  and  savouring  of  inspiration  from  the  climate  and  from  the  austere 
ideas  which  Christianity  implants  in  the  mind  of  man.  Sh.  felt  both  these  influences; 
he  surrendered  himself  without  resistance  to  the  former,  and  stamped  its  effect  even 
more  powerfully  upon  his  countrymen,  but  he  has  altered  and  perverted  the  latter. 
Let  us  briefly  explain  these  two  effects  : — Montesquieu,  while  remarking  that  suicide  is 
more  common  in  England  than  elsewhere,  attributes  it  to  the  climate ;  in  my  opinion 
Sh.  is  accountable,  in  a  measure,  for  this  contempt  of  life,  more  common  in  England 

•  M.  Albert  Lacroix  says  that  Chateaubriand,  in  1836,  retracted  much  of  his  former  criticism 
on  Sh.  I  would  gladly  have  inserted  the  recantation  if  I  could  have  found  it :  Lacroix's  remark, 
however,  must  refer  to  some  other  essay  than  that  from  which  the  above  extracts  are  taken,  which 
•ppears  unchanged  in  the  edition  of  Chateaubriand's  collected  works  published  in  that  year.     Ed 

37  2C 


4.34  APPENDIX. 

than  in  other  lands,  because  he  has  joined  the  influence  of  poetry  to  that  of  the  cli- 
mate ;  he  has  familiarized  his  compatriots  with  the  idea  of  death  by  putting  it  upon 
the  stage,  and  he  has  boldly  mingled  with  it  thoughts  and  sentiments  to  which  it  seems 
most  foreign.  As  long  as  the  story  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  was  confined  to  the  circle 
of  Italian  literature,  those  vague  and  gloomy  fancies,  which,  in  Sh.,  form  one  of  tlie 
traits  of  these  characters,  were  unknown, — Luigi  da  Porto  never  dreamed  of  making 
melancholy  visionaries  of  them.  The  Italian  Romeo,  when  he  is  in  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets,  says  nothing  of  the  charms  of  death ;  he  fails  to  note  that  Juliet  is  still 
beautiful  even  in  death,  so  much  has  the  idea  of  death  veiled  from  his  eyes  the  beau- 
ties of  his  beloved.  All  the  thoughts  of  the  English  Romeo  centre  upon  the  corpse 
before  him,  upon  Juliet,  whom  he  loves  to  contemplate  even  in  her  grave,  still  lovely, 
although  without  life ;  the  thoughts  of  the  Italian  Romeo  fly  back  to  Juliet  as  sh* 
was  while  she  lived,  beautiful  and  beloved ;  and  the  Italian  Romeo  and  the  English 
Romeo  have  each  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  that  their  climate  bestows  upon  them. 
In  the  South,  life  and  beauty  are  sacred  things,  from  which  men  carefully  exclude 
the  idea  of  death  as  a  sort  of  profanation.  In  the  North,  men  love  to  call  up  this 
idea,  in  order,  by  the  contrast,  to  feel  more  deeply  the  charms  of  life  and  beauty. 
When  Romeo  wishes  to  purchase  poison  and  die,  with  what  pleasure  Sh.  lingers 
over  the  description  of  the  Apothecary,  whose  poverty  compels  him  to  sell  death ;  -nd 
the  shop,  redolent  of  sorcery  and  crime;  and  even  the  poison  itself,  which  had  the 
strength  to  despatch  twenty  men.  He  broods  over  all  these  gloomy  and  repulsive 
ideas  which  are  pleasing  to  his  genius  and  to  his  countrymen.  Thus  is  shown  in  Sh. 
the  influence  which  the  climate  has  exercised  upon  poetry.  Let  us  now  turn  to  the 
second  influence,  that  of  Christianity,  and  see  how  that  has  been  modified  by  him. 
[This  has  been  effected,  according  to  M.  Girardin,  by  the  doubts  which  Sh,  has  cast 
over  immortality  and  a  future  life,  chiefly  in  Hamlet.     Ed.] 


PHILARfiTE  CHASLES. 

{^Etudes  surSk.,^  p.  141.  Paris,  1851.) — Who  cannot  recall  lovely  summer  nightk 
when  the  forces  of  nature  seem  ripe  for  development  and  yet  sunk  in  drowsy  languor, — 
intense  heat  mingled  with  exuberant  vigor,  fervid  force,  and  silent  freshness  ? 

The  nightingale's  song  comes  from  the  depths  of  the  grove.  The  calices  of  the 
flowers  are  half-closed.  A  pale  lustre  illumines  the  foliage  of  the  forest,  and  the 
outline  of  the  hills.  This  profound  repose  conceals,  we  feel,  a  fertile  force ;  beneath 
the  retiring  melancholy  of  nature  lies  hidden  burning  emotion.  Beneath  the  pallor 
and  coolness  of  night  and  its  luminary  there  is  a  hint  of  restrained  impetuosity — 
each  flower,  brooding  in  silence,  is  longing  to  bloom  forth. 

Such  is  the  peculiar  atmosphere  with  which  Sh.  has  surrounded  one  of  his  most 
wonderful  creations,  Romeo  and  Juliet. 
^  Not  only  the  story  upon  which  the  drama  is  founded,  but  the  very  form  of  the 
language  comes  from  the  South.  Italy  was  the  inventor  of  the  tale ;  it  breathes  the 
very  spirit  of  her  national  records,  her  old  family-feuds,  the  amorous  and  bloody 
intrigues  which  fill  her  annals.  No  one  can  fail  to  recognize  Italy  in  its  lyric  | 
rhythm,  its  rich  and  flowing  essence,  in  the  blindness  of  its  passion,  its  sparkiing 
images,  its  bold  composition.  Romeo's  words  flow  like  one  of  Petrarch's  sonnets, 
with  a  like  delicate  choice,  a  like  antithesis,  a  like  grace,  and  a  like  delighr  in 
tlothing  his  passion  in  tender  allegory.     Juliet,  too,  is  wholly  Italian,  with  smaU 


CHASLES—GUIZOT.  435 

gift  of  forethought ;  and,  endowed  with  a  simplicity  that  is  perfect  in  its  utter  aban- 
donment, she  is  both  passionate  and  pure.  .  .  . 

With  Friar  Lawrence,  we  foresee  that  the  lovers  will  be  conquered  by  fate ;  Sh. 
does  not  close  the  tomb  upon  them  until  he  has  intoxicated  them  with  all  the  happi- 
ness that  can  be  crowded  into  human  existence.  The  balcony-scene  is  the  last  gleam 
of  this  fleeting  bliss.  Heavenly  accents  float  upon  the  air,  the  fragrance  of  the  pome- 
granate-blossoms is  wafted  aloft  to  Juliet's  chamber,  the  sighing  plaint  of  the  night- 
ingale pierces  the  leafy  shadows  of  the  grove,  nature,  dumb  and  impassioned,  can 
only  in  rustling  and  fragrance  add  her  assent  to  that  sublime,  sad  hymn  upon  the 
frailty  of  human  happiness.  .  .  . 

But  where  is  the  corse  of  Romeo  ?     What  has  become  of  Juliet  ? 

In  a  deserted  street  of  deserted  Verona  stands,  half  hidden,  an  old  smoke-stained 
hostelry,  where  there  is  shouting  and  swearing  and  smoking,  where  maccaroni  and 
sour  wine  are  dealt  out  to  labourers.  It  was  once  the  palace  of  the  Capulets.  The 
little  hat,  sculptured  above  the  doorway,  is  the  escutcheon  of  the  Capulets,  the  Cap- 
pelUtto.  Here  Juliet  lived.  At  the  end  of  a  court-yard  there  is  an  ancient  tomb,  the 
burial-place,  they  tell  you,  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  It  looks  now  like  an  empty  ditch. 
Every  year  more  than  a  thousand  curious  people  come  on  a  pilgrimage  hither  to  see 
this  fragment  of  stone. 

It  is  due  to  Sh.  that  the  traveller  now  visits  Verona  solely  to  look  for  traces  there 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

GUIZOT. 

{^  Sh.  and  his  Times,^  p.  I95.  London,  1852.)* — It  is  in  comprehension  of  the 
natural  feelings  that  Sh.  excels,  and  he  depicts  them  with  as  much  simplicity  and 
truth  of  substance,  as  he  clothes  them  with  whimsicality  of  language.  WTiat  can  be 
less  similar  than  the  love  of  Petrarch  for  Laura,  and  that  of  Juliet  for  Romeo  ?  In 
compensation,  the  expression,  in  Petrarch,  is  almost  always  as  natural  as  the  feeling 
is  refined ;  and  whereas  Sh.  presents  perfectly  simple  and  true  emotions  beneath  a 
strange  and  affected  form,  Petrarch  lends  to  mystical,  or,  at  least,  singular  and  very 
restrained  emotions,  all  the  charm  of  a  simple  and  pure  form.  I  will  quote  only  one 
example  of  this  diff'erence  between  the  two  poets,  but  it  is  a  very  striking  example ; 
for  it  is  one  in  which  both  have  tried  their  powers  upon  the  same  position,  the  same 
feeling,  and  almost  the  same  image.  Laura  is  dead.  Petrarch  is  desirous  of  depict- 
ing, on  her  entrance  upon  the  sleep  of  death,  her  whom  he  had  painted,  so  frequently 
and  with  such  charming  passion,  in  the  brilliancy  of  life  and  youth : 

'  Non  come  fiamma  che  per  forza  fe  spenta 

Ma  che  per  si  medesma  si  consume, 

Se  n'ando  in  pace  I'anima  contenta. 
A  guisa  d"un  soave  e  chiaro  lume, 

Cui  nutrimento  a  poco  a  poco  manca, 

Tenendo  al  fin  11  suo  usato  costume. 
Pallida  no,  ma  piu  che  neve  bianca, 

Che  senza  vento  en  un  bel  colle  fiocchi, 

Parea  posar,  come  persona  stanca. 
Quasi  un  dolce  dormir  ne'suoi  begli  occhi, 

Sendo  lo  sperto  gii  de  lei  diviso, 

Era  quel  che  morir  chiaman  gli  sciocchi, 
Morte  bella  parea  nel  suo  bel  visa't 

•  It  is  not  stated,  on  the  title-page  of  this  work,  by  whom  this  translation  was  made.    K& 
t  Pr  trarch,  'Tricnfo  della  Morte,'  cap.  i,  160-173 


436  APPEXDTX. 

The  ioUowing  translatioo  b  from  the  pen  of  Captain  Macgregor: 

*  Not  as  a  Same  which  saddenlr  is  spent. 
But  oa<  chat  gendy  &iub  hs  aatBral  ciooc. 
To  keovcB  m  peaet,  her  vilfiiK  sfuk  me: 
As»  KuifUBcnt  iViHifHt  a  lovely  n^t, 
Bj  fine  gradatiaas  biBa^  less,  Icsb  brighl; 
E'en  to  the  bat  gtres  (bfth  a  UiiJift  glow : 
Not  pale,  bat  &ixcr  tfaaa  die  ynigfrn  amam, 
FalBo^  «beB  wiadB  an  bi^  «■  cm  Ik's  gveeo  faROi^ 
Sbe  Kem'd  a  saiat  &tm  fi&*s  i»a  toOs  at  rest. 
As  if  a  sweet  sleep  o'er  those  bright  eyes  came. 

Her  spirit  ■wntrrf  to  the  tbrooe  a£  grace  I 
If  this  we.  in  fmr  faOr,  Deatk  do  aoHe, 

Then  Death  seem'd  lovely  on  tiiat  lorely  ace.** 

Juliet  aIso~is  dead.  Romeo  contemplates  her  as  she  lies  in  her  tomb,  and  te  aha 
expatiates  upon  her  beauty.  I  need  not  insist  upon  the  comparison ;  who  does  not 
feel  how  much  more  simple  and  beautiful  the  form  of  expression  is  in  Petrarch  ?  It 
is  the  brilliant  and  flowing  poetry  of  the  South,  beside  the  strong,  roogh,  and  Tigor- 
DOS  imagination  of  the  North. 


SAINT-MARC  GIRARDIN. 

CCntn  de  Liiziralure  Dramatiqtu^  vol.  iii,  p,  364,  Paris,  1855.) — The  language 
I  .f  the  lovers  often  degenerates  into  quibbling ;  but  what  they  feel  with  nalreti  they 
express  with  affectation-  What  they  say  is  an  idyU  of  the  ball-room ;  what  they  feel 
is  a  most  gracious  and  virid  picture  of  innocent  love.  And  it  is  mder  this  image 
^>laf  the  two  lovers  remain  graven  on  our  imagination.  All  the  world  orer,  when 
two  hearts,  young  and  pure,  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  if  they  are  cultivated,  they 
think  of  Romeo  and  Jidiet ;  if  they  are  uncultivated,  they  do  better  than  diink  of 
them,  they  re-enact  them.  I  read  lately,  in  an  English  novel,  the  story  of  a  yoang 
girl  who  fell  in  love  with  a  French  gentleman.  How,  think  yoo,  did  Geitmde 
Lifford  avow  her  love  for  Adrien  d'Arfaerg  ?  « She  took  the  volume  of  Loigi  da 
Porto— the  story  of  Romeo  and  Juliet — and  ran  to  seat  herself  under  the  noble  trees 
of  the  park,  and,  when  she  read  that  chsnning  greeting,  that  admiraide  *^flam«ri«^ 
of  love  at  first  sight :  "BmedtOo  aa  tm  vosira  vatuta  qiAfraam  wu,  wusser  Jlmmetf 
•he  let  the  volume  fall  upon  her  knees.'  f 

.A.LBERT    L.\CROIX. 

{'Hhtoin  de  V Infitunce  deSk.ntrU  Tkiatre  Frojifois,'  p.  33S,  Bruxelles,  1856.J) — 
In  this  long  enumeration  [of  French  authors]  we  meet  for  ever  the  same  thoa^it, 
in  all  this  variety  of  labour  there  is  bot  one  common  end,  to  retnm  to  Sh.,  as  to  the 
true  source,  to  the  very  personification  of  the  modem  drama — to  erect  his  genius  as 
a  perfect  model.     And  this  movement  has  so  penetrated  to  the  heart  of  the  masses 


•  M acsregor's  *  Odes  of  Petrarch,'  p.  xaa. 

*  L»4fBird,  by  Lady  Geotpaaa  FaBevUk 

{  Airhowgh  aocfa  that  is  here  qaoted  fnm  BL  Lacroiz  is  not  strictly  gemane  to  the  s-.ibiect  ot'  tha 
voiMK.  yet  it  teeois  fitting  that  this  first  attempt  10  introdoce  in  an  editian  of  Sh.  the  Freacb  oritics  go 
laEa^iih  pabfic  •bo«Id  be  accospaaaed  by  the  ttrikiBg  testiaooy  wfaich  M.  Lacrois  bean  to  iht 
>nwiifiil«adgroaaaciafaeacerfSh.m  France.  M.  Lacwxa'a  booh.  'Ctmrwmmt  mm  Csmamr,  {iHtml 
fr'  U  7«MPirMM«iii'  Rtlgt  eniTt  Us  UmimtrtiUs  S$  Rtjmumt,'  is  bejoad  all  rniirr.  and  thccJd  b« 
lead  bf  ever/  ooe  incM-ested  in  Shakespceriaa  Worfiesi   Eix 


LA  CROIX.  437 

that  the  names  of  the  poet  and  of  his  creations  have  become  household  words.  The 
powerful  influence  which  he  wields  is  manifest,  and  has  grown  gradually  for  the  last 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  is  still  far  from  reaching  a  limit ;  it  has  increased  more 
than  ever  in  our  days ;  more  than  ever  is  it  now  active.  It  can  be  traced  in  all  of 
the  really  remarkable  works  which  have  seen  the  light  in  this  last  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, so  vigorous  in  everything.  This  influence  will  not  cease ;  it  will  prepare  the 
future  of  dramatic  art — of  that  art  which,  we  repeat  and  firmly  believe,  is  as  yet  or.ly 
in  its  infancy  and  process  of  formation,  seeking  a  path  and  awaiting  a  new  Sh. 
Already  in  France  we  are  returning  to  simplicity,  and  longing  to  be  at  one  again 
with  nature  and  truth. 

The  influence  of  Sh.  on  the  French  stage  touches  at  a  multitude  of  points ;  it  ap- 
pears, not  in  a  simple  sketch  of  the  authors  who  have  imitated  or  translated  Sh.,  not 
in  a  dry  list  of  names,  but  by  an  accurate  analysis  of  it ;  that  is  to  say,  by  a  philo- 
sophic history  of  whatsoever  has  helped  to  diffuse  it,  or  of  whatsoever  has  been 
inspired  by  it ;  a  vast  subject,  doubtless,  since  the  example  of  Sh.  has  prompted, 
whether  directly  or  indirectly,  almost  all  the  theories  and  almost  all  the  works  of  the 
modem  drama.  The  analysis,  therefore,  of  the  influence  of  Sh.  comprises  the  history 
both  of  the  form  and  of  the  theory  of  the  Drama,  and,  up  to  a  certain  point,  the 
history  of  dramatic  criticism  in  France  during  nearly  two  centuries ;  two  centuries 
fruitful,  indeed,  in  attempts  and  results,  and  the  subject  opens  and  spreads  the 
farther  we  advance.  .  .  . 

The  theatre  of  Sh.  is  the  most  perfect  that  the  world  has  yet  seen.  It  will  con- 
tinue to  be  a  study  for  dramatic  authors  of  all  ages,  and  all  will  find  in  it  the  very 
nutriment  for  an  artistic  education — an  education  which  will  be  developed  uncon- 
sciously, so  to  speak,  by  the  study  of  all  the  emotions  that  can  stir  the  heart,  of  all 
the  loftiest  thoughts  that  can  elevate  the  soul. 

The  influence  of  Sh.  upon  the  French  stage  has  been  profoundly  salutary.  To 
prove  this  truth,  which  is  for  us  an  axiom,  we  should  have  to  recapitulate  all  the 
ideas  which  we  have  set  forth  in  the  course  of  our  work ;  we  will  here  only  indicate 
some  of  the  general  benefits  of  this  influence.  Sh.  has  emancipated  us  from  the 
classic  tragedy,  which  had  become  an  anachronism  and  an  anomaly  in  the  midst  of 
our  modern  society ;  he  has  given  birth  to  a  new  dramatic  form  which  is  a  step 
towards  the  theatre  of  the  future ;  by  his  example  he  has  brought  back  into  the 
domain  of  art  spontaneity,  freedom,  which  had  been  so  long  banished  from  it,  the 
sole  pledges  of  its  progress.  .  .  . 

(P.  173.)  In  the  imitation  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  by  Ducis,  in  1772,  the  feud  be- 
tween the  Capulets  and  Montagues  is  preserved,  but  new  situations  are  added. 
After  the  defeat  and  banishment  of  his  father,  Romeo,  while  an  infant,  is  received 
into  the  household  of  the  mortal  enemies  of  this  family,  the  Capulets :  his  true  name 
and  birth  remain  concealed  :  he  is  called  Dolvedo.  Thus  he  grows  up  under  the 
roof  of  a  stranger,  while  his  father,  pursued  by  misfortune,  lives  solitary,  vanquished, 
ruined,  in  exile.  The  old  man's  place  of  retreat  is  unknown.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  triumphant  Capulet  is  puffed  up  with  the  assured  success  of  his  house;  he 
slumbers  in  his  tranquillity,  he  rejoices  in  his  power.  But  all  of  a  sudden,  after 
years  of  concealment,  Montague  reappears  and  rallies  his  partisans ;  from  this  time 
forward  the  drama  revolves,  so  to  speak,  only  around  the  quarrel  of  the  rival  chiefs 
in  their  appeal  to  arms.  Romeo  alternates  between  his  duty  to  his  father,  whom  he 
s«es  again,  and  gratitude  to  his  benefactor,  with  whose  d?ughter  Juliet,  moreover, 
he  is  in  love. 
37* 


438  APPENDIX. 

Where,  in  all  this,  is  there  a  trace  of  the  conception  of  Sh.  ?  Sh.'s  purpose  -ras 
to  reveal  two  loving  hearts  surrounded  by  inveterate  family  hate;  it  is  lovely,  sim- 
ple, full  of  poetry  and  freshness ;  the  sight  of  this  young  couple,  so  full  of  love,  makes 
as  better  and  happier — we  connect  ourselves  with  their  destiny,  we  weep  over  their 
sad  fate.  Apart  from  the  interest  in  the  plot  of  the  drama,  how  immense  is  the  share 
allotted  to  the  obser\-ation  of  human  nature  !  what  truth  in  the  smallest  details  !  what 
an  infinite  variety  of  ponraits !  The  hand  of  the  mastc-  is  revealed  as  clearly  in 
Friar  Lawrence,  the  practical  and  tolerant  philosopher,  as  in  the  quarrels  between 
Sampson  and  Abraham.  Not  only  did  Ducis  suppress  all  these  details  in  his  work, 
but  that  sweet  dream  of  love  is  lost  in  the  intricacy  of  an  intrigue.-  He  attributes  to 
his  Montague  a  cruelty  almost  firocious,  so  wholly  uncalled  for  that  it  disgusts  the 
spectator.  We  will  not  cavil  at  the  arrangement  of  his  plot — from  such  as  he  has 
adopted  he  could  compose  beautiful  scenes,  and  characters  more  or  less  true,  if  he 
were  strong  enough  to  paint  the  grand  passions  of  the  heart;  but  this  merit  was 
equally  denied  him — in  his  hands  the  love  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  became  only  ai» 
accessory  of  the  tragedy. 

Sh.,  we  easily  persuade  ourselves,  never  sought  for  difficult  and  surprising  combi 
nations,  the  unforeseen  complications  of  a  plot ;  in  his  dramas  everything  advances 
without  clap-trap,  the  action  unfolds  naturally  and  of  itself,  free  from  any  unexpected 
counterplots,  which  only  retard  the  main  issue ;  everything  aids  in  advancing  the 
plot  to  its  end.  In  short, — this  may  appear  novel,  but  we  believe  it  to  be  none  the 
less  true, — there  exists  in  his  works  much  action — that  is  to  say,  life — but  little  plot,  is 
the  sense  in  which  we  are  accustomed  to  use  this  word,  none  of  the  arrangement! 
that  our  modem  performers  know  how  to  find  there.  \Vhat  need  had  he  of  all  these 
tricky  inventions,  so  popular,  and  which  Ducis  sought  for  long  ago  ?  Sh.  cared  far 
more  for  the  soul  of  his  work  than  for  its  skeleton.  He  depicted  the  inner  life  of 
man,  the  agitations  of  the  soul;  he  admirably  discriminates  the  almost  inappreciable 
gradations  in  feeling;  he  did  not  look  solely  at  the  action,  the  merely  exterior 
envelope  of  the  drama.  Thought  is  the  ruling  element  with  him  always,  and  yet 
what  can  be  more  animated  than  his  scenes  ?  Ducis  changed  the  manner  of  Sh. 
essentially,  or,  rather,  he  did  not  understand  it ;  on  his  own  authority  he  mixed  uf 
foreign  elements  with  the  subjects  that  he  borrowed,  and  by  so  doing  disfigured  his 
model.  It  is  thus  he  fashioned  Romeo ;  instead  of  powerfully  moving  us  and  speak 
ing  to  our  very  souls  by  the  spectacle  of  devoted  love,  of  a  union  of  two  hearts  deep 
and  holy,  he  gives  us  no  more  than  the  representation  of  a  mutual  and  merciless  ran- 
cour between  two  enemies.  What  was  secondary  in  Sh.  became  in  his  hands  the 
main  fact,  the  very  subject  of  the  piece.   (P.  175) 

In  comparing  the  different  styles  of  the  French  and  English  drama,  Comeille  and 
Racine  perfectly  represent  the  former,  and  Sh.  the  latter — one  is  a  pure  product  of 
art,  the  other  is  a  work  of  nature,  to  which  it  has  remained  for  ever  faithful.  .  .  . 
The  exclusive  imitation  of  the  ancients  stripped  off  the  last  vestiges  of  originality; 
the  whole  French  drama  of  the  XVIIth  century  (and  of  the  XVIIIth  itself  for  the 
most  part)  was  purely  artificial.  .  .  .  What  a  difference  in  England,  where,  at  the 
first  stroke  and  without  effort,  as  without  models,  one  single  man,  freed  from  the 
clogging  weight  of  rules,  freed  from  the  servile  imitation  of  his  predecessors— one 
tingle  man  raised  the  drama  to  a  height  which  no  nation  has  as  yet  attained,  but  to 
which  we  are  all,  Germans,  as  well  as  French,  struggling  to  reach  by  the  study  of 
this  incomparable  poet ! 

Sh.,  dn  ven  of  the  spirit,  obeying  this  secret  voice  which  spoke  to  him  unceasingly, 


MEZIERES.  439 

And  which  is  infallible,  follows  freely  his  fearless  inspiration.  Nothing  checks  him, 
no  influence  weighs  him  down — he  lives  in  the  people.  The  age  in  which  he  lived 
still  savoured  of  the  grossness  of  the  Middle  Ages,  nay,  was  even  a  part  of  them,  but 
he  outstripped  his  age  by  the  pure  force  of  his  genius.  He  is  not,  like  Comeille  or 
Racine,  the  personification  of  an  age  or  of  a  system ;  he  is  for  all  ages,  he  is  uni- 
versal. The  homage  paid  to  him  in  France,  during  the  last  thirty  years,  proves  it.  All 
Europe  itself,  in  its  admiration  for  Sh.,  is  distanced  by  the  New  World.  '  The 
United  States,'  says  M.  Villemain,*  'have  no  other  national  theatre  than  the  dramas 
of  Sh.,  which  excite  even  more  applause  and  enthusiasm  there  than  in  London.  The 
sound  democratic  sense  of  men,  so  industrious  and  so  busy,  seizes  with  avidity  the 
mighty  ideas,  the  profound  sentences  of  which  Sh.  is  full ;  his  gigantic  figures  charm 
the  souls  of  those  who  are  accustomed  to  the  most  magnificent  aspects  of  nature,  and 
to  the  grandeur  of  the  forests  and  rivers  of  the  New  World.  There,  as  on  his  native 
soil,  Sh.  is  the  most  popular  of  authors;  he  is  probably  the  sole  poet  whose  words 
are  sometimes  heard  in  the  simple  eloquence  and  grave  discussions  of  the  American 
Senate.'  And,  as  we  further  learn  from  M.  Villemain,  are  not  the  vast  Indies 
already  filled  with  the  name  and  study  of  Sh.  ?  Sh.  forms,  so  to  speak,  the  founda- 
tion of  the  education  of  the  Hindostani  children,  who  learn  to  declaim  and  act  his 
tragedies. 

Thus,  to  whatever  quarter  we  turn,  among  the  ancient  nations  of  Europe,  among 
the  young  peoples  of  America,  as  well  as  in  mysterious  India,  in  so  many  countries 
differing  in  manners  and  tastes,  Sh.  is  the  great  poet  that  all  read  and  all  love. 


ALFRED   MfiZI^RES. 

(^Sh.  ses  CEuvres  et  ses  Critiques^  p.  264,  Paris,  i860.) — Like  a  great  poet  who 
knows  all  the  storms  of  youth  and  love,  Sh.  painted  the  lofty  sentiments,  the  burn- 
ing passions,  the  headlong  actions,  the  countless  joys  and  sorrows  of  which  the  tissue 
of  his  drama  is  woven.  But  he  was  not  only  the  limner  of  the  passions,  he  was 
their  judge,  and  herein,  perchance,  lies  the  greatest  wonder  of  his  genius.  There 
is  nothing,  in  sooth,  more  difficult  than  to  identify  one's  self,  on  the  one  hand,  with 
characters  hurried  away  by  passion,  while,  on  the  other,  the  entire  freedom  of  an 
impartial  spectator  is  reserved  for  the  calmest  observation  and  analysis  of  the  events 
which  must  needs  be  narrated  in  burning  words.  Sh.  seems  to  share  in  all  the  illu- 
sion and  enthusiasm  of  the  lovers,  and  yet  at  the  very  instant  that  he  is  pouring  forth 
like  fire  their  intense  emotion  he  fixes  on  them  the  calm  gaze  of  a  philosopher.  The 
philosophy  of  the  Friar  is  but  the  judgement  which  the  poet  pronounces  from  the  back- 
ground of  the  tragedy.  When  the  Friar  speaks  we  seem  to  hear  the  reflections 
which  the  poet  is  making  aloud  to  himself  as  the  play  comes  from  his  creative  hands. 
Under  the  garb  of  the  monk,  Sh.  communicates  to  us  the  results  of  his  personal  ex- 
perience, and  the  conclusions  to  which  the  spectacle  of  the  world  has  led  him.  He 
was  profoundly  versed  in  the  study  of  human  nature ;  he  knew  its  weaknesses,  its 
contradictions,  its  impltient  desires,  its  rashness  attended  by  boundless  hope  and  fol- 
lowed by  utter  despair,  its  misfortunes  whether  merited  or  self-provoked ;  he  knew 
the  self-deception  man  so  often  practices ;  all  this  he  knew,  and  yet  the  knowledge 
never  lessens  his  indulgence  or  his  sympathy  for  his  fellow-creatures.     He  smiles  at 


*  Etudes  de  Littirature  ancienne  et  Eirangire,  par  M   Villemain.  x>.  2%i.     Pari?,  1849-     Ed. 


440  APPENDIX. 

their  folly,  he  is  vexed  at  their  weaknesses,  and  he  sometimes  sternly  summons  hem 
back  to  their  duties;  but  all  the  while  he  is  full  of  compassion,  extending  the  help- 
ing hand,  and  by  wise  counsels  endeavouring  to  soften  their  lot.  No  longer  is  he 
young  or  passionate  like  them  ;  but  he  loves  youth,  he  excuses  passion,  and  his  neart, 
always  generous,  promptly  espouses  the  cause  of  those  whom  his  reason  condemns. 
.  .  .  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  a  youthful  work ;  if  Sh.  had  written  it  later  he  would 
doubtless  have  lopped  the  concetti  and  the  flowers  of  rhetoric,  but  he  might  perchance 
have  drawn  those  passionate  emotions  with  less  ardor.  Whoever  touches  the  ])lay 
nnder  pretext  of  correcting  it,  cannot  efface  a  blemish  without  erasing  the  Lr.Uiart. 
colors  of  this  youthful  and  burning  poetry. 

A.    DE   LAMARTINE. 

»  (•5'A.  et  son  CEuvre,'  p.  132,  Paris,  1865.) — In  this  first  great  dramatic  w  )rk  of  Sh. 
we  find :  Invention,  none ;  it  is  literally  translated  from  an  Italian  novel :  a  vitiated 
taste,  since  the  most  scandalous  obscenity  usurps  the  place  of  that  virgin  purity  which 
is  as  necessary  to  style  as  to  love :  a  style  in  a  great  measure  depraved  by  the 
Italian  affectation  of  that  age,  when  authors  made  jests  in  place  of  revealing  what 
should  have  been  the  true  and  pure  sentiments  of  the  situations  in  which  they  placed 
their  characters :  pathos  chilled  by  the  false  over-refinement  of  the  expressions. 
Such  are  the  defects  of  Sh.  in  this  piece.  But  after  this  is  admitted,  and  too  well 
proved  by  the  citations  over  which  we  have  thrown  the  veil  of  omission,  its  beauties 
reveal  a  great  genius,  a  splendid  imagination,  a  soul  full  of  pathos  and  a  master  of 
hearts.  That  scene  alone  of  the  nuptials  of  the  two  lovers,  and  that  admirable  idea 
of  the  nightingale's  song  arousing  the  young  bride,  the  uncertainty  which  the  bird 
awakens  in  the  mind  of  Juliet  whether  it  be  the  vesper  song,  a  prelude  to  a  long 
night  of  rapture,  or  the  matin  song  bringing  separation  or  death ;  the  tender  dispute 
between  the  lovers  whether  it  be  the  morning  lark  or  the  nocturnal  songstress ;  this 
dispute  about  the  time,  those  supreme  moments  which  are  to  be  prolonged  for  their 
felicity  or  abridged  from  their  love,  an  idea  entirely  Sh.'s  and  such  as  no  other  poet 
could  create,  is  worth  a  whole  tragedy.  It  is  a  poem  complete  in  itself;  it  is  the 
heart  sounded  to  its  mysterious  depths ;  it  is  nature  associated  with  the  happiness  of 
the  lovers  by  the  most  joyous  and  the  saddest  analogies  of  the  summer  nights  under 
the  southern  skies,  and  it  is  the  same  note  of  the  nightingale  whether  she  sings  in 
the  evening  twilight  or  in  the  morning  dawn,  giving  to  the  lovers  the  signal  of  bliss 
or  the  terror  of  death.  T'lus,  'it  is  the  nightingale  of  Romeo^  or,  'it  is  the  lark  of 
yuliet,^  has  become  the  proverb  of  anxious  love  in  all  lands.  Poetry  can  go  no 
farther,  and  the  imagination  can  conceive  of  no  more  divine  image  in  any  tongue. 

Observe  here  how  the  poet,  entirely  given  up  to  himself,  becomes  simple  and 
sober  in  his  expressions  by  the  very  truth  and  force  of  the  sentiment.  All  of 
pathos  is  in  these  two  phrases, '  it  is  the  nightingale^  or, '  it  is  the  lark^  and  then  the 
terrible  cry  of  Juliet  when,  after  having  denied,  she  is  forced  to  assent:  '//  is  tht 
lark,  my  love,  save  thyself  P 

In  this  play  we  find  neither  crime  nor  vice  of  any  kind  to  serve  as  contrast  to  the 
two  young  lovers.  They  are  sufficient  to  each  other  and  to  the  spectators ;  all  is  in- 
nocence, all  is  goodness  around  them,  except  the  fatality,  blind  and  deaf,  which  5ets 
a  snare  for  them  and  drives  them  into  it.  Father,  mother,  friends,  the  Friar,  the 
nval  himself,  Pa- is,  all  unite  in  loving  them  and  serving  them,  and  yet  they  love 
each  other,  they  marry  and  they  die !     Fate  lures  them  on,  separates  them,  and  re 


LAMARTINE—TAINE.  441 

nnites  them  in  the  bloody  marriage  of  the  tomb.  Melting  pity  for  these  two  chil- 
dren, victims  even  of  the  friendship  of  the  Friar  who  wishes  to  save  them,  is  the 
only  sentiment  which  moves  the  spectator ;  tears  devoid  of  bitterness  fill  all  eyes ;  it 
is  the  tragedy  of  innocence,  it  is  the  tragedy  of  nature,  but  it  is  not  the  tragedy  of 
art.  Voltaire  brutally  called  Sh.  a  drunken  barbarian  :  not  so,  but  a  man  of  genius, 
uncultivated  and  artless,  resembling,  in  the  polished  arrangement  of  his  plays,  J?s- 
chylus,  Euripides,  Comeille,  Racine,  or  even  Voltaire  himself,  as  little  as  the  Parthe- 
non of  Athens  resembles  a  virgin  forest  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  the  Par- 
thenon is  verily  of  marble,  we  may  admire  it,  but  it  does  not  live,  no  vitality  flows 
in  the  stony  veins  of  its  statues,  while  the  virgin  forest  lives  and  overflows  with  a 
life  which  renews  itself  through  all  time.  This  is  the  character  of  Sh. ;  full  of 
faults  but  full  of  passion,  he  lives,  and  will  live  an  eternal  life.  Thus  his  chef- 
d^<euvre  explains  to  us  the  enthusiasm  that  the  poor  holder  of  horses  at  the  door  of 
a  theatre  has  inspired  in  the  most  cultivated  nation  of  the  universe. 

H.  TAINE. 

e 

{'Littirature  Anglaise,''  vol.  ii,  p.  190.  Paris,  1866.) — In  Sh.  there  is  no  picpa- 
tation,  no  development,  no  care  to  make  himself  understood.  Like  a  horse  full  of 
strength  and  fire,  he  leaps  over  the  ground,  he  does  not  know  how  to  run.  From| 
word  to  word  he  clears  enormous  distances,  and  glances  in  an  instant  from  one  end 
of  the  earth  to  the  other.  In  vain  does  the  reader  strain  his  eyes  to  trace  the  inter- 
mediate steps ;  dazed  by  the  prodigious  leaps,  he  wonders  by  what  miracle  the  poet  has 
passed  from  one  thought  to  another :  we  may  here  and  there  catch  sight  of  a  long 
ladder  up  which  we  clamber  painfully  step  by  step,  but  which  he  has  mounted  at  a 
bound.  Sh.  flies,  we  creep.  Hence  arises  a  style  made  up  of  bizarreries,  of  bold  im- 
ages, intercepted  by  images  still  bolder,  ideas  barely  hinted  at,  overwhelmed  by  others 
a  hundred  leagues  removed ;  no  sequence,  but  apparent  incoherence ;  we  halt  at  every 
step,  the  path  has  disappeared ;  far  above  our  heads  we  descry  the  poet,  and  we  find 
that  we  are  following  him  through  a  rugged  region  full  of  precipices,  over  which  he 
passes  as  on  a  level  plain,  while  we  by  the  most  strenuous  exertions  can  barely  crawl. 

But  suppose  we  find  that  these  utterances,  so  violent  and  so  unpremeditated, 
instead  of  following  each  other  smoothly  and  studiously,  were  poured  out  in  crowds 
with  all  the  facility  and  overwhelming  abundance  of  ripples  bubbling  over  from  a 
brimming  spring,  that  rises  higher  and  higher,  and  finding  nowhere  room  to  spread 
out  or  to  empty  itself.  There  are  twenty  instances  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  of  this  inex- 
haustible fancy.  The  metaphors,  passionate  exaggerations,  pointed  and  twisted 
phrases,  loving  extravagancies,  which  the  two  lovers  heap  up,  are  infinite.  Their  lan- 
guage resembles  the  roulades  of  nightingales.  Sh.'s  wits,  Mercutio,  Beatrice,  Rosa- 
lind, the  clowns,  the  buffoons,  all  sparkle  with  flashes  that  go  off",  one  after  another, 
like  a  fusillade.  Not  one  of  them  but  utters  enough  to  set  up  a  whole  theatre.  The 
imprecations  of  Lear  and  of  Queen  Margaret  would  suffice — the  former  for  the  in- 
mates of  an  insane  asylum,  the  latter  for  all  oppressed  ones  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

All  this  may  be  explained  in  a  word :  objects  entered  into  Sh.'s  mind  all  «;om- 
plete,  they  can  pass  into  our  minds  only  disjointed,  separated,  piecemeal.  He 
thought  in  blocks,  we  think  in  atoms.  Hence  his  style  and  ours  are  two  opj)Osite 
languages.  We,  writers  and  reasoners,  may  note  precisely  by  a  word  each  isolated 
member  of  an  idea,  and  represent  the  exact  order  of  its  parts  by  the  exact  order  of 
our  fom  s  of  expi  cssion ;  we  advance  by  gradations ;  we  follow  the  threa  Is  of  om 


442  APPENDIX. 

discourse ;  we  Iry  to  deal  with  our  words  as  though  they  were  numbers,  and  oai 
phrases  were  equations.  We  use  only  general  terms  intelligible  to  every  one,  and 
regularly  constructed  sentences  which  all  comprehend.  We  achieve  precision  and 
clearness,  but  miss  the  life.  Sh.  flung  aside  precision  and  clearness,  and  seized  the 
life.  Out  of  his  complex  conceptions  he  snatches  a  fragment,  some  fibre,  all  alive 
and  throbbing,  and  shows  it  to  you ;  you  must  divine  the  rest.  Behind  the  word  is 
a  whole  picture,  a  long  train  of  reasoning  foreshortened,  a  swarm  of  ideas, — you 
know  what  such  words  are,  condensed  and  crowded — such  words  as  come  thick  and 
fast  in  the  heat  of  composition  or  the  transport  of  passion,  slang  terms,  fashionable 
phrases  recalling  local  associations  or  personal  experiences,  little  mincing  modes  of 
speech,  and  incorrect  turns  that,  by  their  very  irregularity,  express  the  abruptness  oi 
the  dislocation  of  the  thought — trivial  words,  extravagant  figures.  Behind  every  one 
of  them  is  a  gesture,  a  sudden  contraction  of  the  eyebrows,  a  pursing  of  the  smiling 
lips,  or  a  downright  saraband.  These  various  forms  of  speech  do  more  than  denote 
ideas,  they  all  suggest  images.  Every  one  of  them  is  the  concentration  of  a  com- 
plete mimic  action,  the  expression  and  the  definition  of  a  partial  and  particular  idea. 
Hence  it  is  that  Sh.  is  at  once  strange  and  powerful,  obscure  and  creative,  beyond  all 
the  poets  of  his  age  and  of  all  ages — the  most  lawless  of  all  violators  of  language,  the 
most  extraordinary  among  all  makers  of  souls,  the  farthest  removed  from  logic  and 
classic  reason,  the  most  potent  to  awaken  in  us  a  world  of  forms  and  to  conjure  up 
before  us  li\'ing  persons. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  Nurse  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  one  of  the  most  complete  of 
his  characters,  garrulous,  foul  in  language,  the  mainstay  of  the  kitchen,  smelling  of 
pots  and  old  shoes,  stupid,  impudent,  immoral,  yet  otherwise  a  worthy  soul,  and 
indulgent  to  her  young  charge.  She  sets  out  to  tell  a  long-winded,  improper  anec- 
dote, and  begins  it  four  times  over.  It  is  all  the  same  whether  she  is  stopped  in  it 
or  not.  She  has  the  story  in  her  mind  and  tell  it  she  must,  although  it  raises  no 
laugh  but  her  own.  Endless  repetitions  are  the  infant  steps  of  intelligence.  Com- 
mon people  never  follow  a  direct  line  of  reasoning  or  of  narration.  They  retrace 
their  steps,  beat  around  the  same  bush.  Tickled  with  a  simile,  they  keep  it  before 
them  for  an  hour,  and  cannot  bear  to  let  it  go.  They  advance  only  by  meandering 
in  and  out  among  a  hundred  incidents  before  they  reach  the  essential  word.  Every 
thought  that  crosses  their  minds  turns  them  from  their  path.  Thus  is  it  with  the 
Nurse,  when  she  brings  news  of  Romeo  to  Juliet,  whom  she  tortures  not  for  the  sake 
zi  teasing  her,  but  only  through  her  rambling  incoherence.  Her  garrulity  is  even 
worse  when  she  tells  Juliet  of  the  death  of  Tybalt,  and  the  exile  of  Romeo.  We  hear 
the  piercing  screams  and  coarse  hiccoughs  of  the  asthmatic  old  magpie.  She  bewail^ 
she  jumbles  together  names,  she  utters  set  phrases,  and  ends  by  calling  for  brandy 
She  curses  Romeo,  and  then  conducts  him  to  the  chamber  of  Juliet.  The  very  next 
day,  after  Juliet  has  been  commanded  to  wed  Paris,  and  she  throws  herself  into  the 
arms  of  the  Nurse,  beseeching  her  for  consolation,  advice,  assistance,  the  latter  finds 
the  true  remedy:  'marry  Paris.'  This  naive  immorality,  these  weathercock  argu- 
mente,  this  fish-wife's  estimate  of  love,  give  the  finishing  touches  to  the  portrait.  .  .  . 

Let  the  reader  compare  the  dialogue  of  our  stage  with  Mercutio's  description  of 
Queen  Mab,  the  offspring  '  of  an  idle  brain  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air,  and  more 
inconstant  than  the  wind,'  introduced  perfectly  naturally  into  a  scene  of  the  XVIth 
century,  and  he  will  understand  the  difference  between  the  genius  that  occupies 
\tself  with  chains  of  reasoning  or  in  noting  absurdities,  and  the  imagination  which 
revels  in  imagining.  .  .  . 


LESSING— GOETHE.  443 

It  is  but  natural  that  such  love  should  be  followed  by  supreme  calamities  and  fatal 
resolves.  Ophelia  becomes  insane,  Juliet  kills  herself,  and  that  the  insanity  and  the 
suicide  are  inevitable  every  one  feels.  It  is  not  virtue,  by  any  means,  that  is  found 
in  such  souls,  for  by  virtue  we  understand  a  will  bent  upon  excellence  and  implicitly 
obedient  to  duty.  The  purity  of  such  women  is  due  only  to  delicacy  or  love.  Vice 
repels  them  because  it  is  gross,  not  because  it  is  immoral.  It  is  not  respect  for  mar- 
riage that  keeps  them  pure,  but  idolatry  of  their  husbands. 


LESSING. 

{' Hamburgische  Dramaturgies  Art.  xv,  June  19,  1767.) — •  It  was  Love  itself  ttial 
dictated  La  Zaire  to  Voltaire,'  says  a  critic  prettily  enough.  It  would  have  been 
nearer  the  mark  had  he  said  that  it  was  la  Galanterie.  I  know  of  but  one  drama 
that  Love  itself  elaborated,  and  that  is  Romeo  and  Juliet.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
Voltaire  makes  his  enamv  ured  ZaTre  express  her  feelings  very  prettily,  very  discreetly, 
but  what  are  all  these  expressions  in  comparison  with  that  living  picture  of  all  the 
little  secret  wiles  whereby  love  creeps  into  our  souls,  of  all  the  imperceptible  advan- 
tages that  it  gains  there,  of  all  the  artifices  wherewith  it  acquires  the  ascendency 
over  every  other  passion,  until  it  is  the  autocrat  of  all  our  desires  and  all  our  aver- 
Fions !  Voltaire  admirably  understands,  if  I  may  so  speak,  the  diplomatic  style  of 
love,  which  is  that  language,  that  fashion  of  language,  which  love  uses  when  it  says 
nothing  but  what  it  can  answer  for  in  the  presence  of  dry  sophists  and  cold  critics. 

GOETHE'S 

ARRANGEMENT  OF   ROMEO  AND  JULIET   FOR  THE  WEIMAR  THEATRE,*    18II. 

Act  I,  Scene  i,  opens  before  Capulet's  house ;  servants  are  decorating  the  entrance 
with  lamps  and  flowers,  singing  a  festal  welcome  to  the  masks,  who  appear  and 
enter  the  house  as  the  first  of  the  two  strophes  sung  by  the  servants  is  repeated. 

Scene  ii.  Enter  Romeo,  Benvolio  and  Page ;  the  servants  are  still  singing.  Benv. 
[not  the  Benv.  of  Sh.  Ed.]  flies  into  a  rage  at  finding  himself  near  the  hateful  house  of 
Capulet,  and  is  ready  to  fall  upon  the  servants  and  compel  them  to  hush  their  noise. 
But  Rom.  pleads  for  peace,  and,  after  telling  about  the  hatred  between  the  two 
houses,  reminds  Benv.  of  the  Prince's  law,  and  ends  with  proposing  to  go  to  the 
Capulet's  festival,  to  which  Benv.  accedes,  puts  up  his  sword,  and  Rom.  sends  the 
page  for  masks. 

Scene  iii.  Mercutio  joins  Rom.  and  Benv.  Rom.  invites  him  to  go  with  them  to 
the  Masque ;  he  declines  upon  the  plea  that  he  is  so  distinguished  a  man  that  no 
mask  could  hide  him  from  being  recognized  by  every  man,  woman  and  child, 
[There  is  no  allusion  to  Queen  Mab.  Ed.] 


•  Tk'-*  version  (according  to  Genek*s  'Geschickte  der  Skakespeare-schen  Dramtn  in  Devischland,' 
Leipzig,  1870)  retained  possession  of  the  Stage  in  Berlin  up  to  1849.  It  was  first  published  by  BoAf 
ID  his  'Nachtrdge  zu  Goethe's  siimmtlichen  Werken'  and  is  criticised  by  Mr  Lkwes  in  his  ^Life  »/ 
Goethe,'  book  VI,  chap.  v.  The  present  synopsis  is  made  from  the  extracts  given  in  the  above- 
nent  sncd  excellent  volume  of  Mr  Gen^e.  Ed. 


444  APPENDIX. 

S;ene  iv.  Room  in  Capulet's  house.  A  masked  ball.  Capulet  and  Paris  talk 
together.  Paris,  who  confesses  to  have  been  in  love  with  Juliet  for  a  whole  year, 
proposes  for  her  hand,  and  Capulet  gives  his  consent ;  they  retire,  and  in  Scene  v 
come  forward  Lady  Cap.,  Jul.,  and  the  Nurse  talking  together.  Lady  Cap.  inquires 
how  Jul.  stands  affected  towards  marriage,  and  urges  the  cause  of  Paris.  The  Nurse 
sings  his  praises.     Juliet  promises  to  look  at  Paris,  as  a  mask  leads  her  off  to  dance. 

Scene  vi,  Rom.  inquires  of  Ben  v.  who  the  lady  is  that  is  led  out  to  dance.  Benv. 
cannot  tell,  and  Rom.  breaks  out  into  '  O  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  bum 
bright,'  &c. 

The  dialogue  between  Tybalt  and  Capulet  is  given  quite  literally.  ('  To  set  cock- 
a-hoop'  is  translated  ^den  Hahn  im  Korbe  spielen.') 

Scene  viii.  The  Prince  and  Merc,  masked ;  they  come  on  from  the  wings,  and 
Benv.  from  the  centre.  Benv.  recognizes  Mer.  at  once.  The  latter  angrily  bids  him 
to  be  quiet,  and  Benv.  retires.  The  Prince  then  avows  his  design  to  reconcile  the 
hostile  Capulets  and  Montagues  by  gentle  means,  and  by  bringing  about  the  mar- 
riage of  Juliet  with  his  relative  Paris.  He  takes  Mer.  into  his  confidence,  and  bids 
him  work  with  him  to  influence  the  younger  members  of  the  rival  houses,  as  the 
older  members  are  hard  and  obstinate.  Mer.  puts  his  nonsense  at  the  Prince's 
service. 

Scene  ix.  Tybalt  points  out  the  Prince  to  Cap.,  who  expresses  his  delight  at 
being  so  honoured.  The  Prince  addresses  Cap.  graciously,  and  is  much  pleased  to 
see  his  cousin  Paris  among  the  guests. 

Scene  x.  A  room  from  which  the  whole  saloon  and  company  are  visible.  Romeo 
and  Juliet  discovered.  Romeo  seizes  Juliet's  left  hand,  and,  after  his  first  speech  to 
her,  beginning,  •  If  I  profane,'  &c.,  he  kisses  it.  He  afterwards  kisses  her  on  the 
mouth  in  accordance  with  the  stage-directions  of  Rowe  and  Capell. 

Scene  xi.  The  Nurse  interrupts  the  lovers,  as  in  the  original,  and  Rom.  learns 
from  her  that  Juliet  is  a  Capulet.  He  retires  with  Benv.,  and  the  scene  closes  with 
Capulet's  farewells  to  them  and  to  his  guests. 

Tken  follow,  unchanged,  the  few  lines  in  which  Juliet  learns  Romeo's  name. 

The  next  scene  contains  the  great  Balcony  scene  in  Capulet's  orchard.  Instead 
of  the  single  line,  '  He  jests  at  scars,'  &c.,  Goethe  inserts  half  a  dozen  lines  of  his 
own  about  '  Who  thinks  of  thirst  when  near  the  cooling  fount,'  &c.  Otherwise  the 
variations  from  the  original  are  inconsiderable,  except  where  Rom.  plans  that  Jul. 
shall  consult  Friar  Lawrence,  '  who  knows  her  heart,  her  guileless  heart,  and  who 
had  assuredly  often  smiled  as  he  listened  to  her  infant  confession,'  &c. 

Act  II  opens  with  the  Friar's  monologue,  *The  grey-eyed  mom,'  &c.  Imme- 
diately after  Romeo's  entrance  Juliet  joins  them.  The  scenes  between  Rom.,  Benv., 
Mer.,  the  Nurse,  and  Peter,  and  between  Juliet  and  the  Nurse,  are  omitted.  The 
lovers  are  united  by  the  Friar,  and  then  follows  the  fight  with  Tybalt,  his  death  at 
the  hand  of  Rom.,  and  the  latter's  banishment. 

Act  III  opens  with  Juliet's  monologue, '  Gallop  apace,'  &c.,  and  is  followed  by  the 
scene  with  her  Nurse.  Between  this  scene  and  the  next  is  inserted  a  short  dialogue 
in  Fri\r  Lawrence's  cell  between  the  Friar  and  Romeo's  page,  who  inquires  after 
his  master  and  begs  that  he  may  share  his  exile.  The  Friar  assures  him  that  he  can 
be  of  more  service  by  staying  in  Verona  and  acting  as  a  messenger  to  his  master  in 
Mantua.     Then  follows  III,  iii  of  the  original.     Scene  iv  is  omitted. 

Act  IV  oj  ens  with  HI,  v  of  the  original.  The  next  scene  (IV,  i  of  the  original) 
u  essentially  changed ;  it  is  laid  in  Capulet's  house.     Juliet  and  Paris  have  an  inter 


GOE  THE— HORN. 


445 


view,  Paris  urges  his  sui.,  tilling  Juliet  that  he  thought  she  had  all  along  favored 
his  silent  wooing,  that  he  had  so  often  ridden  by  the  house  that  his  horse  would  reai 
if  he  turned  him  in  any  other  direction ;  he  entreats  her  to  marry  him  in  order  to 
bring  peace  to  the  city,  so  greatly  excited  by  Tybalt's  death  and  Romeo's  banish- 
ment. Juliet  replies  with  the  most  elaborate  evasiveness,  and  when  the  Friar  enters 
Paris  entreats  his  influence  with  Juliet  to  turn  her  heart  to  him.  Exit  Paris.  Juliet 
receives  the  sleeping  draught  from  the  Friar,  and  after  his  departure  her  monologue 
follows  and  she  drinks  the  potion,  and  Act  IV  ends.  The  scenes  in  Capulet's  house, 
the  discovery  of  Juliet's  death,  &c.,  &c.,  are  omitted. 

The  last  Act  is  almost  the  same  in  the  order  of  the  scenes  with  the  original, 
except  that  the  concluding  scene  of  the  reconciliation  of  the  families  is  left  out.  In 
the  first  scene,  when  Romeo  receives  the  intelligence  of  Juliet's  death,  a  long 
description  of  the  event  by  the  Page  is  inserted,  who  says  '  that  Verona's  streets  were 
all  astir  as  if  in  rebellion,  one  to  another  mournfully  lamented,  "  Juliet  is  dead,  Cap- 
ulet's Juliet  is  dead."  All  the  bells  tolled,  and  all  the  people  streamed  to  the  funeral 
procession.  Then  came  a  hundred  monks,  two  by  two,  and  then  another  hundred, 
from  all  the  cloisters,  bowed  with  age,  looking  as  if  they  were  going  to  their  own 
graves ;  the  people  all  were  hushed ; — as  the  bier  came  joggling  by,  I  climbed  a  pil- 
lar and  looked  down  on  the  pale,  smiling  figure  that  seemed  to  say.  What  hast  thou, 
Death,  to  do  with  me  ?  She  lay  in  bride's  array,  and  every  one  expected, — they 
would  not  have  her  dead, — that  she  would  stir  and  rise.  But  when  at  the  bright  day 
die  eyes  ne'er  opened,  nor  did  the  ringing  of  the  bells  awake  her  ears,  nor  e'en  the  sun 
speak  to  the  quiet  heart,  then  all  around  the  people  sobbed,  and  I  cried,  too.  The 
bearers  passed  along,  but  I  ran  on  ahead  through  byways  to  the  churchyard,  and 
pressed  into  the  open  space  before  the  vault  with  all  my  force.  Hung  open  were 
the  iron  portals,  and  there  within  I  saw  the  Friar  Lawrence,  cleansing  and  airing 
all  the  mouldering  place, — I  talk  too  much, —  I  saw  her  laid  by  Tybalt.' 

The  scene  in  Capulets'  monument  follows  the  scene  with  the  Apothecary,  and  the 
conversation  between  Friar  Lawrence  and  Brother  Marcus.  The  most  noticeable 
change  here,  with  the  exception  of  the  altered  and  shortened  conclusion,  is  in  the 
omission  of  the  Page  of  Paris  and  Balthasar.  Before  Juliet  revives  the  Friar  con- 
fesses that  all  his  cunning  wisdom  was  in  vain ;  that  if  he  had  opposed,  instead  of 
aiding  the  lovers,  things  could  not  have  come  to  a  worse  end.  After  Juliet  has 
stabbed  herself  Friar  Lawrence  acknowledges  the  folly  that  often  attends  the  wisdom 
of  the  wise,  that  to  attempt  to  do  good  is  often  more  dangerous  than  to  undertake  to 
do  evil.  Happy  those  whose  love  is  pure,  because  both  love  and  hatred  lead  but  to 
the  grave.* 

FRANZ  HORN. 

{^Shakespeare's  Schauspiele^  vol.  i,  p.  223.  Leipzig,  1823.) — Let  us  not,  on  the 
other  hand,  lean  too  far  to  tlie  side  of  the  lovers,  and  regard  them  as  ideals  of  vir- 
tue, for  no  one  is  less  inclined  to  such  a  view  than  the  Poet  himself.  They  are  two 
noble  natures,  living,  blooming,  ripening  with  exuberant  force,  suddenly  flaming  in 

•  In  a  letter  to  Frau  von  Wolzogen,  Goethe  speaks  of  his  recently-completed  version  thus :  '  Th« 
vaxim  which  I  followed,  was  to  concentrate  all  that  was  most  interesting,  and  bring  it  into  harmony ; 
for  Sh.,  following  the  bent  of  his  genius,  his  time,  and  his  public,  was  forced  to  bring  together  much 
that  was  not  harmonious,  to  flatter  the  reigning  taste.' — LiUrarischer  Nachlass  cUr  Fran  vcn  Wolm^ 
^en,  vol.  i,  p.  437  (pted  in  Lewes's  'Life  0/ Gotthe.') 
38 


446  APPENDIX. 

every  pulse  and  vein  with  love.   '  Fire  and  powder  consumed  in  a  kiss' — the  thought 
runs  through  the  whole  play. 

And  here,  again,  Sh. — the  true  Sh. — differs  entirely  from  the  hundreds  upon  hun- 
dreds of  other  poets.  He  knows  nothing,  and  chooses  to  know  nothing,  of  the  false 
division  of  love  into  spiritual  and  sensual,  or,  rather,  he  knows  of  it  only  when  he 
purposely  takes  notice  of  it;  that  is,  when  he  wishes  to  depict  affectation  striving 
after  a  misconceived  Platonism ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  when  he  portrays  a  coarse, 
brutish,  merely  earthly  passion.  Where  genuine  love, — unadulterated  love, — is 
•poken  of,  there  is  none  of  this  miserable  distinction ;  the  whole  man  loves,  for  only 
the  whole  man  can  love.  Juliet  knows  nothing  of  prudery  or  coquetry.  She  is  not 
ashamed  of  her  love, — were  she  ashamed  of  it  she  would  be  less  virtuous.  She  says, 
without  embarrassment  and  with  perfect  frankness :  '  If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  hon- 
ourable, thy  purpose  marriage,'  etc.  And  as  she  recognizes  the  purity  of  Romeo's 
love,  be  it  ever  so  quickly  (spiritual  insight  is  always  quick),  she  is  instantly  decided/ 

Nevertheless,  considering  the  ordinary  relations  of  life,  might  not  Juliet  have  been 
in  error,  for  what  could  she  have  had  but  a  subjective  conviction  of  the  truth  of 
Romeo's  love  ?  and  only  according  to  this  can  her  moral  worth  be  appreciated.  Bu' 
we,  outside,  may  certainly  be  permitted  to  compare  such  love  to  fire  and  gunpowder, 
and  to  call  it  a  serious,  nay,  a  dangerous  thing.  And  the  world, — the  hostile  world, — 
with  all  its  forces  never  asks  permission  to  pronounce  upon  this  love,  but  decrees 
that  such  a  happy  love  shall  not  have  long  continuance.  It  is  powerless  to  prevent 
its  existence, — the  dangers  with  which  it  has  surrounded  it  have  given  an  added 
charm,  a  keener  zest;  but  it  has  decided  against  its  continuance,  and  its  decision 
lakes  effect. 

Here  we  are  met  by  the  question,  Whether  two  human  beings  may  not,  be  their 
attachment  never  so  pure,  love  too  ardently  ?  This  question  Sh.  answers,  not  coldly 
and  prosaically,  as  would,  perhaps,  have  suited  Warburton,  but  in  true  poet  fashion. 

Man  upon  earth  is  an  imprisoned  god, — I  can  say  no  more.  Only  Religion  and 
Love  can  teach  him  to  endure  this  imprisonment  as  they  reveal  to  him,  and  even 
enable  him  to  enjoy,  fettered  as  he  is,  the  eternal  freedom  hereafter  to  be  enjoyed. 
But  love  manifests  itself  in  different  ways  in  different  natures.  Sometimes  it  is 
Sunlight,  sometimes  moonlight.  Sometimes  man  is  able,  by  its  help,  to  regard  his 
prison  as  a  graceful  villa,  and  even, — if  the  colossal  image  may  be  permitted, — to 
play  with  his  prison-bars,  using  them  as  clumsy  strings  of  a  clumsy,  giant  lyre.  But 
sometimes,  too.  Love  is  like  the  lightning,  not  only  striking  but  setting  on  fire,  and 
consuming  both  prison  and  prisoner, — in  illustration  of  which  the  fabled  shirt  of  Nessus 
and  the  myth  of  the  Phcenix  come  to  our  aid.  In  Romeo  we  see  this  lightning  life 
and  lightning  death  of  love,  and  it  need  not  dismay  us.  But  enough  of  what  is  most 
inexhaustible  of  the  inexhaustible,  if,  indeed,  the  inexhaustible  admits  of  degrees. 

We  ask  attention  to  the  character  of  old  Capulet,— .to  his  almost  jovial  coarseness, 
and  to  the  graver  coarseness  of  his  wife,  for  we  discover  here  the  Poet's  purpose  in 
portraying  them  thus.  He  might  easily  have  represented  them  as  most  elevated  and 
dignified  characters,  buf  being  what  they  are  Juliet  is  excused  for  acting  as  she  does. 

Another  question  may  be  asked  here  by  the  modem,  or  ultra-modern,  reader.  Ls 
the  Poet  justified  in  allowing  his  heroine  to  be  scolded  and  abused  as  she  is  by  these 
life-like  but  extremely  coarse  old  Capulets? 

Many  poets  would  be  very  averse  to  this,  for  they  must  be  sensible  that  their  hero- 
ines are  very  shaky  in  position.  Therefore  it  is  the  office  of  most  of  the  other  cha 
racters  to  assure  he  reader  that  the  said  heroine  stands  upon  uncommonly  firm  and 


HORN.  447 

graceful  feet,  and  that,  moreover,  she  is  excellent,  amiable  and  immensely  noble^  so 
that  a  whole  forest  of  laurel  could  hardly  furnish  forth  crowns  enough  for  her.  It 
is  true  the  reader,  for  the  most  part,  is  incredulous,  but  if  with  such  assurances  he 
can  barely  put  faith  in  the  fair  one's  excellence,  how  would  it  be  if  some  character 
in  the  play  were  allowed  to  be-rate  the  heroine  smartly  ?  No  well-bred  poet  could 
allow  it.  Sh.  is  none  of  these.  His  old  Capulet  makes  no  bones  of  calling  his  poor, 
dear  daughter  '  you  green-sickness  carrion  !'  •  you  baggage !'  '  you  tallow-face  !'  He 
threatens  to  have  her  dragged  on  a  hurdle  to  St.  Peter's  church,  and  when  once  the 
stream  of  his  vulgarity  has  burst  every  dam  of  propriety,  he  even  declares  that  it 
would  afford  him  no  small  pleasure  to  flog  her  a  little,  for  which  unheroic  act,  as  he 
expresses  it,  his  •  fingers  itch.'  As  I  said  before,  it  is  most  audacious  in  the  poet  to 
venture  thus  far  without  the  least  fear  that  Juliet  may  suffer  injury  in  the  imagination 
of  the  reader. 

But  he  may  well  be  bold ;  his  Juliet  is  so  permeated  and  enveined  with  beauty, 
that  of  all  these  coarse  words  not  one  cleaves  to  her.  It  can  even  be  said  that  they 
serve  only  to  make  her  more  graceful  and  beautiful.  Ariel  can  hover  over  moor 
and  bog,  and  the  sunbeams  play  upon  filth  and  slime,  without  losing  one  ray  of  theit 
bright  natures ;  even  so  Juliet  may  be  heaped  with  coarse  epithets  without  any  harm 
to  her  beauty.  Old  Capulet,  by  the  way,  seems  to  be  a  man,  who,  with  small  abili- 
ties, makes  an  attempt  to  play  the  fool  with  tolerable  success. 

The  whole  of  the  last  scene  between  Paris  and  Romeo  is  one  that  we  modems 
may  hold  up  to  Sophocles  and  say,  '  Here  is  something  beyond  thy  power.' 

Humour  appears  to  belong  most  especially  to  northern  nations,  or,  to  speak  more 
exactly,  to  the  middle  north,  t.  e.,  to  the  English  and  the  Germans.  Sh.  here  gives 
genuine  racy  humour  to  an  Italian,  and  yet  never  forgets  that  Mercutio  is  a  South- 
erner. It  would  lead  us  too  far  to  compare  here  the  humour  of  Mercutio  with  that 
pervading  our  Poet's  purely  northern  plays,  but  we  would  call  the  reader's  attention 
to  one  very  striking  difference,  which  proves  at  once  that  Sh.  was  not  only  a  great 
genius  but  a  profound  artist.  He  makes  the  death  of  Mercutio  the  lever,  as  it  were, 
of  the  play,  for  it  alone  rouses  Romeo  from  his  tender,  dreamy  melancholy,  and 
drives  him  to  take  that  revenge  upon  Tybalt  by  which  his  own  and  Juliet's  fate  is 
decided.  How  wise  was  it  then  of  the  Poet  to  steep  Mercutio  from  head  to  heel  in 
the  stream  of  frolic  and  fun,  for  thus  his  death  overcomes  us  with  a  strange  sensa- 
tion, half  tears,  half  smiles,  as  it  were,  which  gently  prepares  us  for  the  deeper  emo- 
tion produced  by  the  darker  end  of  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Peter,  too,  deserves  a  moment's  notice  for  the  sympathy  which,  despite  his  rude 
boorishness,  he  feels  for  the  dead  Juliet.  When  his  sorrow  is  too  much  for  him  he 
looks  about  for  a  soft  bandage  for  the  wounds  of  his  soul,  and  finds  it  in  music.  It 
is  true  that  in  certain  pains  of  the  spirit  the  wisest  as  well  as  the  most  simple  turn  to 
music  for  consolation.  But  here  neither  the  music  nor  the  pain  amounts  to  much, 
for  the  buffoon  speedily  gets  the  upper  hand,  as  is  natural. 

The  dead  lovers  stand  nobly  transfigured  before  our  eyes,  and  no  effeminate  emo- 
tion, no  bitter  pain,  mingles  with  the  exalted  feeling  by  which  we  are  possessed. 
But  there  is  no  want  of  the  grand  irony  of  life,  and  there  ought  to  be  none.  Having 
resigned  ourselves  to  the  thought  just  suggested,  and  to  the  elevated  feeling  which 
the  reconciliation  above  the  lovers'  grave  must  awaken,  a  keener  emotion  arises  and 
we  ask  the  now  united  heads  of  the  rival  houses, '  Why  did  you  not  end  your  foolish 
strife  earlier  ?  If  you  were  longing  for  blood,  why  could  not  the  blood  of  Tybalt 
tnd  Mercutio  col  "lent  you  ?     It  inflamed  you  the  more,  and  only  now,  when  you  are 


448  APPENDIX. 

robbed  of  your  houses'  dearest  treasures,  when  the  blooming  lives  of  Juliet,  R  -aiec 
and  Paris  lie  cnished  at  your  feet,  only  now  are  you  weary  and  wretched  enough  to 
be  reasonable.  Now,  desolate  old  men,  when  you  have  scarcely  anything  left  to 
love,  you  are  ready  to  see  to  it  that  no  further  loss  shall  be  borne.  It  needs  only  a 
few  words  from  the  Prince,  and  over  those  corpses  you  join  hands  no  longer  able  to 
wield  the  sword,  and  you  hardly  know  what  you  have  been  quarrelling  about.  The 
best  result  of  your  reconciliation  your  servants  will  enjoy,  for  Sampson,  Gregory, 
Abraham,  and  Balthasar  will  be  no  longer  under  the  necessity  of  brawling  on  your 
account  in  the  streets  of  Verona,  and  the  disturbances  caused  by  you  will  cease.' 

As  I  have  said,  these  thoughts  are  not  to  be  avoided,  and  although  the  Poet  has 
not  clothed  them  in  words,  he  yet  presents  them  to  us.  He  sought  not  merely  to 
dramatize  a  touching  love-story,  but  to  portray  deeper  human  life.  If  we  look 
carefully  at  this  in  Sh.'s  mirror,  emotion,  exultation,  and  irony  fill  us  in  harmonious 
accord.  Even  the  irony  so  sharply  pronounced  at  the  close  is  not  overpowering,  for 
the  thought  prevails,  '  Better  late  than  never,'  and  the  peace  of  a  city  is  precious 
enough  not  to  be  purchased  too  dearly  at  the  cost  of  five  lives. 

I  confess  that  our  admirable  Goethe's  arrangement  of  the  conclusion  is  unintelligi 
ble  to  me. 

Some  of  the  earlier  critics  have  maintained  that  Sh.  in  the  tomb-scene  allows  a 
very  touching  situation  to  escape  him,  for  it  is  obvious  enough  that  if  Juliet  had  been 
made  to  awake  just  as  Romeo  took  the  poison,  she  might  have  had  some  very  har- 
rowing and  effective  talk  with  him.  True,  this  is  obvious  enough,  so  obvious  that 
for  this  very  reason  the  true  Poet  scorned  it. 

Such  a  scene  would  not  be  tragic,  but  an  oflFensive  piece  of  torture,  irritating  to 
the  last  degree.  Had  the  Poet  aimed  to  gratify  those  readers  who  can  never  sup 
sufficiently  on  horrors,  the  proposed  scene  could  have  been  got  up  with  all  the  ease 
imaginable;  nay,  he  could,  of  course,  have  had  old  Capulet,  old  Montague,  the 
Prince  and  Friar  Lawrence  all  die  at  the  tomb,  and  then  had  an  earthquake  swallow 
up  the  entire  city ;  it  would  have  cost  nothing  but — ink. 

Such  views  cannot  be  too  severely  condemned,  for  they  have  always  existed,  and 
are  not  without  friends  even  in  our  own  day. 

TIECK. 

[' Dramaturgische  Blatter,  vol.  i,  p.  256,  Breslau,  1826.) — Romeo's  temperament 
is,  on  the  whole,  much  more  gloomy  than  Juliet's ;  in  the  garden-scene  his  soul  lights 
up,  but  in  good  fortune,  as  in  bad,  he  is  violent  and  rough.  This  vigorous  manhood 
which  so  easily  oversteps  the  bounds  of  mildness  and  tenderness,  harming  both 
itself  and  others,  and  losing  all  moderation  and  restraint  when  enraged,  this  it  is  that 
In  real  life  enkindles  such  manifold  passions  and  suffers  so  deeply  and  powerfully. 
This  exuberance  of  life,  sooner  or  later,  in  one  way  or  another,  involves  in  ruin  both 
itself  and  the  object  of  its  idolatry;  and  this  lesson  Friar  Lawrence  constantly 
preaches  to  the  rash  youth.  If  such  an  ideal  love  really  exist,  pure  and  unalloyed 
by  selfishness,  by  will,  or  by  vanity,  free  from  all  gloomy  passionateness  (which  in 
truth  only  serves  to  reflect  more  brilliantly  the  glow  of  rapture) — if  there  really 
be  such  a  holy,  pure,  peaceful  flame  that,  divine  in  its  nature,  calls  forth  unqualified 
veneration,  nay,  adoration,  from  all  who  approach  it, — if  such  really  exist,  it  cannot 
be  a  subject  for  poetic,  least  of  all,  for  dramatic  representation.  I  am  well  aware 
that  these  latter  days  demand  this  miracle,  that  many  poetic  souls  delight  in  pictur- 


TIECK.  449 

ing  it,  that  many  of  our  latest  dramas  are  only  too  full  of  it ;    but  assuredly  Sh, 
would  be  sorely  tried  were  the  task  set  him  of  portraying  such  unqualified  love. 

'fhe  epic  poet  must  deal  in  more  earthly  materials,  must  have  more  limitations, 
than  the  lyric,  although  even  the  latter  would  soon  let  his  weary  wings  droop  in  that 
empty  space  which  so  many  term  the  Ideal ;  the  dramatist  must  be  still  more  lifelike, 
still  more  persuasive,  still  more  individual.  Whoever,  therefore,  seeks  in  Sh.  for 
so-called  ideal  lovers  will  find  himself  deceived ;  he  will  find  merely  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  human  beings  with  virtues  and  faults,  developing  their  individuality  under  all 
circumstances  in  their  own  way,  and  true  to  their  character,  surmounting  the  pres- 
sure of  circumstances,  or  succumbing  to  it ;  but  that  these  characters  are  sustained 
with  such  truth,  such  fidelity,  such  life,  under  all  circumstances, — this  it  is  that  gives 
to  the  picture  a  charm  so  touching  and  ravishing  that  the  tongue  would  fain  dwell 
on  those  wondrous  phases  of  love.  So  little  subject  was  such  a  spirit  as  Sh.  to  the 
delusions  and  self-deceit  which  beset  smaller  men  that  he  wrote  out  all  these  effu- 
sions from  his  own  full  heart ;  it  may  perchance  be  true  that  he  represented  himself 
and  depicted  scenes  from  his  own  past  life.  Before  Romeo  finds  Juliet  his  heart  is 
brimming  with  tenderness  and  longing ;  this  strong  love  demands  an  object,  and  he 
bestows  all  his  feelings  with  passionate  persistence  upon  one  who  does  not  under 
stand  him,  and  who  is  not  inclined  to  reciprocate  his  sentiments.  Whether  it  is  that 
this  Rosaline  is  simply  beautiful  but  unamiable,  or  whether  she  does  not  yet  need 
love,  at  any  rate  she  waives  off  the  wooer,  and  Romeo  falls  into  idle  dreaming,  into 
a  capricious  play  with  his  own  passion,  in  which  it  is  hard  to  decide  whether  or  not 
he  is  as  sincere  as  he  would  have  us  believe.  His  melancholy  is  not  devoid  of 
humour;  nay,  he  delights  in  wandering  to  the  very  verge  of  frenzy  and  in  confiding 
to  his  friend,  whom  he  both  seeks  and  avoids,  all  his  inmost  feelings,  at  one  time  in 
those  playful  antitheses  with  which  all  the  Italian  love-songs  are  full ;  at  another 
in  descriptions  of  his  beloved  one,  or  in  references  to  suicide.  That  all  this  is 
essential  to  the  drama  needs  not  to  be  explained.  Had  Romeo  long  been  in  love 
with  Juliet,  had  he  been  (as  indeed  he  has  been  represented  by  some,  and  wished 
to  be  by  many  more)  capable  of  quiet  sorrow,  of  resignation  to  the  future,  of  sub- 
mission to  fate,  then  his  tragic  death  and  everything  that  he  does  and  suffers  would 
be  perfectly  impossible. 

The  tragedy  has  been  sometimes  criticised  in  that  its  denouement  is  brought  about 
by  a  trifling  accident.  It  is  only  a  seeming  accident ;  the  tragic  fate  lies  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Juliet,  and  especially  of  Romeo.  Had  he  been  calmer,  more  cautious,  less 
familiar  with  the  idea  of  suicide,  he  would  not  have  been  Romeo ;  he  ought  to  have 
investigated  the  matter,  taken  pains  to  inform  himself,  visited  the  Friar,  and  there 
would  have  been  no  tragedy.  He  must,  Juliet  must,  perish ;  the  necessity  lay  in 
their  very  natures.  And  that  the  blossom  of  their  loves  so  quickly  withered,  and 
that  the  whole  happiness  of  their  lives  was  compressed  to  the  short  span  of  a  sum- 
mer night,  this  is  the  elegiac  wail  of  our  mortality  that  accompanies  all  joy  and  all 
beauty.  Never  before  in  any  poem  have  longing,  love,  passion,  tenderness  and 
the  grave,  death,  despair,  with  all  the  horrors  of  corruption,  been  so  intimately  inter- 
mingled ;  never  before  have  these  sentiments  and  emotions  been  brought  into  such 
intimate  contact  without  counteracting  and  neutralizing  e.ich  other,  as  in  this  single 
most  wondrous  creation. 

I  need  not  say  how  great  is  the  mistake  that  any  re-arrangement  of  this  tragedy 
makes  which  permits  Juliet  to  awake  before  the  death  of  Romeo;  and  yet  Garrick 
fell  into  this  error,  and  many  a  spectator  has  applauded  this  barbarous  mutilation. 
38»  2D 


450  APPENDIX. 

Such  a  horrible  situation  scatters  all  our  previous  sympathy ;  nay,  thrusts  our  feeling* 
to  the  very  verge  of  the  ridiculous  and  of  insipidity.  If  this  situation  cannot  be 
tragically  interpreted,  still  less  can  it  be  interpreted  musically ;  and  yet  in  the  opera 
by  Zingarelli,  in  this  scene,  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  pathetic  arias. 

Sh.  was  eminently  right  in  not  closing  the  tragedy  with  the  death  of  Juliet,  how- 
ever much  our  modern  impatience  may  demand  it.  Not  only  do  the  affecting 
reconciliation  of  the  two  old  foes  and  the  vindication  of  Friar  Lawrence  make  the 
continuation  necessary,  but  so  it  must  be  chiefly  in  order  that,  after  misfortune  has 
done  its  worst,  the  true  idea  of  the  tragedy,  its  glorified  essence,  may  rise  before  our 
»ouls  that  up  to  this  point  have  been  too  sorely  tried  and  too  violently  affected  to 
perceive  the  inmost  meaning  of  the  poem,  or  to  take  a  painful  yet  clear  survey  of 
it.  Schiller,  in  his  preface  to  '  The  Bride  of  Messina,'  expresses  the  opinion,  singu- 
lar, to  say  the  least,  that  Sh.'s  dramas  stand  peculiarly  in  need  of  a  Chorus,  after  the 
manner  of  a  Greek  tragedy,  in  order  fully  to  express  their  meaning.  Here,  and  in 
all  Sh.'s  tragedies,  without  any  such  aid,  there  is  just  as  much,  if  not  more,  done  for 
us ;  and  it  is  inconceivable  how  a  genius  like  Schiller's  could  fail  to  see  this,  or  so  to 
permit  his  prejudices  to  blind  him.  .  .  . 

It  is  a  pity  that  on  the  stage  much  of  the  Nurse's  vulgar  babble,  as  well  as  Mer- 
cutio's  flying  witticisms,  must  be  omitted.  We  are  no  longer  innocent  enough  and 
unconstrained  enough  to  listen  to  these  jests  simply  as  jests;  our  propriety  is  instantly 
aroused ;  on  such  occasions,  and  on  much  milder  ones,  it  never  allows  itself  to  be 
caught  napping.  How,  in  more  modem  pieces,  it  applauds  much  worse  things,  and 
feels  thereby  much  edified  and  strengthened,  is  no  riddle  to  those  who  see  that  in 
this  respect  we  live  in  a  world  turned  upside  down.  In  a  tragedy  like  this,  where 
love  is  the  theme  that  is  treated  under  its  manifold  aspects,  the  contrast  of  joking 
and  laughter  should  not  be  forgotten.  Through  the  whole  piece,  as  in  a  many- 
voiced  musical  symphony,  the  voices  of  the  young  people  at  one  time  mingle  in 
unison,  then  separate  and  flow  onward  in  contrast :  Benvolio  the  sedate,  Tybalt 
the  furious,  Mercutio  the  witty,  Romeo  the  enthusiast,  Paris  the  tender,  refined 
youth ;  indeed,  we  may  even  add  the  tone  of  command  of  the  young  Prince,  whom 
I  have  always  thought  to  be  quite  young,  and  have  imagined  as  a  counterpart  to  the 
others. 

When  Juliet  is  found  apparently  dead  on  her  marriage  morning,  there  is  a  loud 
outcry  of  wailing  and  lamentation :  the  father,  the  mother  and  the  count  in  turn 
utter  their  woe ;  but  loudest  of  all,  in  the  original,  is  the  Nurse.  Now-a-days  the 
latter  must  keep  hush  to  avoid  giving  offence.  However  affecting  is  the  father's 
grief,  it  has  not  the  true  tragic  ring ;  we  know  that  Juliet  will  awaken ;  the  poet, 
therefore,  expresses  the  sorrow  almost  wholly  in  ejaculations,  with  a  certain  sym- 
metry so  as  not  to  strike  too  deep.  The  mother,  accordingly,  is  more  moderate, 
and  Paris  recites  only  a  few  elegant  phrases  which  need  no  tragic  earnestness,  but 
serve  only  to  express  his  refinement  and  his  noble,  amiable  disposition.  In  order 
to  keep  the  scene  from  being  genuinely  tragic  we  hear  the  exaggerated  wailing  of 
the  Nurse  drowning  all  otiiers ;  she  is  the  comic  and  the  disturbing  element :  and, 
as  if  all  this  were  not  quite  sufficient,  the  poet  introduces  the  witty  Peter  to  go 
through  a  scene  of  delicious  nonsense  with  the  musicians,  in  order  to  weaken  the 
previous  impressions  on  our  minds  and  to  prepare  us  for  the  approaching  scenes, 
which  will  strike  with  heavier  force  after  this  respite  and  this  diversion.  .  .  . 

I  am  inclined  to  thick  that  the  rOle  of  Friar  Lawrence  the  Poet  wrct?  for  him- 
»clf ;  in  it  is  every  variety  of  tone  without  its  ever  rising  to  the  height  A  passioD* 


TIECK—ULRICI.  451 

ateness — golden  words,  part  instructive,  part  soothing  or  consolatory;  at  last  from 
these  holy  lips  issue  the  sighs  and  the  plaints  of  the  unhappy  lovers.  .  .  . 

In  the  scene  wrhere  Juliet  entreats  his  aid,  Friar  Lawrence  may  well  lose  his  self- 
command,  and  his  consolations,  as  well  as  the  remedy  which  he  proposes,  bear  the 
traces  of  embarrassment  and  timidity.  His  own  honour,  his  liberty,  everything  was 
at  stake.  Out  of  love  for  his  young  friends,  and  with  the  hope,  at  the  same  time,  of 
bringing  peace  to  the  city,  he  had  plunged  into  a  strife  for  which  he  lacked  both 
courage  and  weapons.  As  it  so  often  happens  to  sentimental  schemers,  he  had 
not  counted  on  any  obstacles ;  he  had  taken  the  happy  event  indefinitely  for  granted, 
and  postponed  all  thoughts  about  it.  Suddenly  opposition  occurs,  the  most  natural 
in  the  world,  and  it  would  have  been  the  simplest  plan,  as  well  as  the  most  advisa- 
ble, to  disclose  the  marriage  to  the  parents,  trusting  to  the  effect  which  it  would  have 
upon  the  Father  and  the  Prince,  In  the  presence  of  her  terrible  father  this  simplest 
plan  never  occurs  to  Juliet,  not  does  the  anxious  Friar  think  of  it.  In  place  of  it  an 
artificial,  daring,  hazardous,  nay,  a  frightful  remedy  is  adopted.  The  rage  of  a  single 
man  is  warded  off,  but,  by  so  doing,  the  fate  of  the  lovers  devolves  upon  other 
unknown  powers,  which  can  still  less  be  computed  or  controlled.  How  artificial  is 
lliat  speech  which  the  anxious  Friar  had  to  deliver  over  the  apparently  dead  body  of 
Juliet !  Far  otherwise  is  it  in  his  last  speech  in  the  last  act.  His  game  is  lost,  end- 
less misery  stretches  before  him,  a  terrible  misfortune  has  befallen  him,  his  dearest 
friends  have  been  snatched  away  in  the  most  painful  manner  through  a  mistake  for 
which  in  part  he  was  responsible,  in  fear  and  trembling  all  his  strength  breaks  down, 
the  calamity  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  will  for  ever  live  in  his  deep  woe  and  horror,  and 
from  out  of  his  unspeakable  sorrow  and  inconsolable  wretchedness  he  rises  in  his 
speech  to  the  sublime ;  his  broken  words  sound  unearthly,  we  scarcely  recognize 
him,  for  it  is  the  dying  song  of  the  swan;  sorrow  for  his  darlings,  and  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  brought  about  and  survives  their  fate,  must  soon  wear  him  to  the  grave. 

Dr.  HERMANN   ULRICI. 

('5^.'j  Dramatic  Art;  1839.  Translated  by  A.  J.  W.  M.  London,  1846.)— In 
this  piece  love  is  undoubtedly  regarded  as  the  basis,  centre,  and  leading  principle 
of  human  life ;  in  love  human  life  is  seized  in  its  inmost  core ;  it  is  the  noblest  and 
most  exalted  privilege  that  man  enjoys,  and  deification  of  love  consequently  were  no 
idolatry  so  long  as  it  should  be  apprehended  in  its  true  divinity;  for  God  himself  is 
even  love.  But  even  because  it  is  in  its  nature  thus  eminently  noble  and  sublime, 
does  love  become,  so  soon  as  it  attaches  itself  to  the  finiteness  of  passion  and  desire 
and  so  long  as  it  remains  unpurified  from  earthly  dregs,  a  fatally  destructive  force, 
whose  triumphs  are  celebrated  amid  ruin  and  death.  It  is  even  because  it  is  in  its 
true  essence  of  a  celestial  origin  that  it  hurries  along,  with  demoniacal  and  irresistible 
energy,  all  who  misuse  its  godlike  gifts,  and  who,  plunged  in  the  abyss  of  self-forget- 
fulness,  lavish  all  the  riches  of  a  heavenly  endowment  on  the  lowly  sphere  of  their 
earthly  existence.  It  is  in  such  a  light  that  Romeo  is  presented  to  us  at  the  very 
opening  of  the  piece.  The  faculty  of  loving,  which  pervades  his  whole  being,  and 
which  is  assigned  to  him  in  so  eminent  a  degree,  instead  of  being  refined  and  spirit- 
ualized by  its  sexual  object  and  passion,  becomes  merged  in  passionate  yearning  and 
desirs.  He  thus  becomes  the  slave  of  the  very  power  whose  master  he  ought  to  be. 
....  Both  are  high-born,  richly  gifted,  and  noble  of  nature;  both  have  earth  and 
heaven  within  their  bosoms  ;  but  they  pervert  their  loveliest  and  noblest  gifts  into 


452  APPENDIX. 

sin,  corrjption,  and  evil;  they  mar  their  rare  excellence  by  making  idols  of  eaci 
other,  and  fanatically  sacrificing  all  things  to  their  idolatry.  It  is  no  mere  accident 
that  Tybr.lt  kills  Mercutio  and  falls  himself  by  the  hand  of  Romeo,  but  the  inevitable 
consequence  of  the  reigning  feud.  This  consideration  alone  suggests  the  dramatic 
propriety  of  the  characters  of  Mercutio  and  Tybalt ;  the  former  with  the  pure  light- 
heartedness  and  cheerful  contempt  of  life  with  which  he  holds  up  the  mirror  of  irony 
before  the  wild  earnestness  of  the  universally  reigning  passion,  and  reflects  the 
nothingness  botli  cf  it  and  of  all  earthly  things,  and  Tybalt  with  the  blind,  sullen 
zeal  of  his  savage  disposition — both  are  active  representatives  of  that  spirit  of  party 
hate  \»hich,  wherever  it  springs  up,  inevitably  terminates  in  violence  and  death. 
The  jTudent  Benvolio  attempts  in  vain  to  quench  the  heat  of  strife ;  he,  too,  is 
necessary  even  to  prove  that  it  is  unquenchable,  while  the  old  men,  the  Montague 
and  Lhe  Capulet,  the  original  causes  of  the  dissension,  are  on  the  scene  for  no  other 
end  than  to  suffer  and  to  reap  the  bloody  harvest  which  they  had  sown.  Further,  it 
is  no  mere  chance  that  Romeo  remains  in  his  mistaken  belief  of  the  death  of  Juliet, 
or  that  the  latter  does  not  come  to  herself  a  few  moments  earlier,  and  before  Romeo 
has  drank  off  the  poijon :  the  innocent  device  of  Friar  Lawrence — the  fruit  at  once 
of  solitary  musing  and  of  ignorance  of  the  world — cannot,  amid  the  tearing  torrent 
of  passion,  strike  root  in  the  volcanic  soil,  where  so  many  heterogeneous  elements 
are  crowded  together  in  mutual  collision.  As  Romeo  replies  to  the  solaces  of  phil- 
osophy by  attempting  suicide,  and  rejects  all  the  counsels  of  reflection  and  delibera- 
tion, the  remedies  suggested  by  calm  and  circumspect  wisdom  are  unable  to  save  him, 
all  external  means  must  of  necessity  fail.  Even  the  sudden  freak  of  Romeo  and 
his  friends  to  attend  the  festival  of  the  Capulets — that  first  spring  of  the  tragical 
incidents  that  followed  so  thickly — is  divested  of  its  seeming  arbitrary  character  of 
hazard  and  caprice.  Profoundly  does  the  poet  remind  us,  by  the  mouth  of  the  witty 
Mercutio,  of  the  mysterious  connection  subsisting  between  the  past  and  the  future, 
which  so  often  reveals  itself  in  dreams.  Deterred  by  a  vision  of  the  night,  Romeo 
yields  to  the  instigation  of  his  friends  reluctantly,  and  almost  involuntarily.  His 
'  mind  misgives,'  and  yet  he  yields,  impelled,  as  it  were,  by  some  internal  necessity. 
And  this  necessity,  what  else  is  it  than  the  mysterious,  but  nevertheless  certain  and 
indispensable,  connection  between  the  inner  and  outer  world — the  secret  and  yet 
manifest  inter-action  between  a  man's  character  and  his  fortunes,  through  which  the 
most  delicate  traits  of  his  mental  constitution  have  their  correspondent  anti-type  in 
outward  circumstance,  and  in  obedience  to  which,  in  the  present  case,  that  super- 
natural energy  of  love  into  which  Romeo's  passionate  susceptibility  precipitates 
him,  is  so  promptly  seconded  by  the  external  occasion?  Sh.,  it  is  asserted,  has 
grievously  offended  against  the  rules  of  dramatic  art  by  not  concluding  the  play 
with  the  death  of  the  lovers,  but  appending  a  scene  of  investigation  and  inquiry 
which  is  not  only  superfluous,  but  weakens  the  dramatic  impression.  But,  in  sober 
earnest,  how  dull  and  prosaic  must  that  mind  be  that  fails  to  discern  and  feel  the 
sublime  beauty  and  deep  significance  of  the  closing  scene!  Is  the  scene,  in  short, 
such  as  it  is  pretended  ?  Or  is  it  the  sole  end  of  tragedy  to  ruflfle  the  nerves  of  the 
spectators  from  their  ordinary  toqiidity  by  a  series  of  horrors  and  murders?  Was  not 
\he  violent  death  of  the  loveliest  and  noblest  beings  of  the  earth  revolting  to  human 
sensibility,  and  needed  it  not  to  be  accompanied  with  a  soothing  whisper  of  deep 
and  blissful  consolation  ?  And  this  sweet  solace,  which  is  essential  to  true  tragedy, 
as  exhibiting  the  desired  purification  of  humanity,  and,  therefore,  its  veritable  reality, 
its  etenil  and  infinite  vitality,  sounds  forth  in  this  closing  scene  with  the  scft  har- 


ROTSCHER. 


453 


mouy  of  a  quiet,  thoughtful  sadness  which  knows  no  Iritterness.  The  lovere  have, 
indeed,  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  their  misuse  and  reckless  squandering  of  divine  en- 
dowments; whatever  there  was  of  earth  and  passion  in  their  love  has  been  puri- 
fied, atoned  for,  and  exalted  by  death ;  it  rises  from  the  tomb  pure  and  golden,  like 
the  Phoenix  from  its  ashes,  to  diffuse  a  lasting  blessing  on  the  scene  of  iu  brief 
earthly  existence. 


Dr.  HEINRICH   THEODOR   ROTSCHER. 

{' F  htlosophie  der  Kunst^  vol.  iv,  '■Romeo  and  yuliet  Analyzed,  with  especial  refer- 
ence to  the  Art  of  Dramatic  Representation.^  Berlin,  1842.)* — The  existence  of  such 
a  passion  is  accompanied  from  its  very  birth  by  a  tragic  influence,  in  that  the  only 
reverberation  to  the  proclamation  of  its  birth  is  the  harshest  discord.  Hence  the  sit- 
uation of  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  the  very  first  moment  of  their  love  is  tragic.  The 
tragic  collision  is  only  the  fruit,  which  is  developed  from  the  germ  of  the  relation 
into  which  the  lovers  are  thrown.  From  the  very  first  moment,  therefore,  their  pas- 
von  seems  fanned  by  that  poisonous  breeze  which  is  laden  with  the  odours  of  the 
grave.  To  be  representatives  of  the  bitter  inappeasable  hatred  of  the  two  houses  is 
the  Ati  of  the  lovers ;  it  is  the  tragic  basis  on  which  all  the  woe  is  founded  as  by  a 
necessity  of  nature,  although  disguised  as  free-will.  Thus  we  see  the  truth  of  the 
ancient  Ati  in  all  her  destructive  significance  reproduced  in  a  tragedy  the  most 
modern  in  its  passion.  .  .  , 

It  was  essential  to  the  unity  of  the  idea  in  this  tragedy  that  the  hate  between  the 
two  houses  should  not  be  represented  as  arising  from  any  cause  that  could  enlist  our 
sympathies.  Any  such  issue  would  absorb  our  interest,  and  obstruct  the  surrender 
of  our  attention  to  any  other  passion.  The  poet  cannot  impart  any  substantial  pathos 
to  the  hate  of  the  two  foes  from  which  this  single  love  has  sprung,  nor  can  he  per- 
mit our  gaze  to  be  riveted  upon  the  cause  of  this  mortal  hate,  if  the  power  of  romantic 
love,  in  its  entire  development,  is  to  be  made  the  cardinal  point  of  the  tragedy.  Any 
concrete  issue,  as,  for  instance,  between  the  Church  and  the  State,  or  as  between 
republican  institutions  and  monarchical  power — any  such  issue  would  at  once  convert 
us  tc  partisans,  and  force  us  to  desire  the  triumph  of  that  party  which  had  our  sym- 
pathy. The  denouement  could  not  in  that  case  end,  as  it  now  does,  in  the  convic- 
tion of  the  equal  guilt  of  both  houses,  who,  by  the  loss  of  what  was  dearest  to  each, 
were  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  wickedness  of  their  enmity.  Herein  lay  the 
rich  store  of  blessings  which  the  passion  of  love  revealed  in  the  catastrophe  of  the 
lovers ;  it  conquered  that  deeply  rooted  hate  which  had  defied  hitherto  every  attempt 
to  eradicate  it.     Thus  has  the  poet  preserved  the  unity  of  idea  and  of  interest  by 

•  It  was  only  after  much  deliberation  that  I  decided  to  give  any  extracts  at  all  from  the  excellent 
essays  of  Rotscher  and  Strater  on  this  tragedy.  To  give  the  whole  of  the  essays  would  take  at  least 
a  hundred  pages  of  this  volume,  and  to  give  detached  passages  here  and  there  seems  a  cruel  mutilation 
of  such  finished  productions.  But  as  Heine  says  that  Sh.  in  the  smallest  atom  of  the  visible  world  could 
at  oncu  discern  its  relations  to  the  universe,  it  may  happen  that  Shakespearian  students,  from  these  few 
rpecimen  bricks  which  I  offer,  may  form  some  idea  of  the  massiveness  and  beauty  of  the  structures  from 
which  they  are  taken.  I  am  the  more  anxious  to  give  some  extracts  from  this  particular  essay  of 
Rotschhr's  because  it  affords  an  excellent  instance  of  the  German  school  of  Symbolism — a  school  that 
tias  interpreted  symbolically  the  whole  Greek  Drama  and  the  Iliad.  It  may  not  be  amiss  to  remind 
the  reader  that  the  idea,  embedded  in  some  of  the  learned  German's  sentences,  is  not  unlike  '  bonoia 
Sir  Hugh,'  in  the  Scotch  ballad,  who  complains  of  his  coffin  that  the  'lead  is  wotdrous  heavy,'  and  th« 
weli  is  wondrous  deep.'     Ed. 


454  APPENDIX. 

infusing  no  political  or  religious  element  into  the  hatred  between  the  Capulets  and 
the  Montagues,  and  only  thus  wa^  it  possible  to  give  a  tragedy  of  love  in  unalloyed 
purity.  .  .  . 

So  long  as  Count  Paris  acknowledges  in  old  Capulet's  permission  the  sole  justifica- 
tion of  his  betrothal  he  outrages  the  domain  of  free  subjectivity,  which  alone  is  the 
source  of  all  harmony  and  poesy.  Against  this  right,  founded  upon  the  authority 
of  parents,  the  disregarded  subjectivity  of  free  choice  rightfully  opposes  itself.  This 
right,  which  recognizes  in  the  will  of  the  parent  a  sufficient  authority  for  a  mariage 
de  convinance,  must  be  abrogated  by  the  higher  law  of  free  choice — that  is,  must  be 
shown  to  be  subordinate  thereto.  The  conflict  between  the  two  can  result  only  in  a 
victory  for  the  latter.  It  is,  therefore,  with  an  insight  as  prophetic  as  it  is  profound 
that  Count  Paris  is  made  to  fall  by  Romeo's  hand.  The  genuine  passion  of  Love 
unveils  the  emptiness  and  falsehood  of  a  sham  passion  which  does  not  spring  from  a 
complete  surrender  of  the  personality.  But  even  in  its  downfall  the  latter  receives  a 
certain  degree  of  consecration  in  so  far  as  it  comes  in  contact  with  the  genuine  poetic 
passion  of  love,  and  is  in  death  reconciled  with  it.  The  victory  of  Romeo,  therefore, 
Bver  Paris  is  the  victory  of  the  true  poesy  of  Love  over  the  merely  prosaic  penchant 
that  h.is  no  absolute  right  of  existence;  it  is  the  triumph  of  genuine  passion  over  super- 
ficial passion,  which  is,  as  it  were,  only  veneered  with  a  mere  semblance  of  subjective- 
ness.  But  the  matter-of-fact  standpoint  can  be  conquered  by  the  poetic  only  when  there 
is  in  it  some  emotion  common  to  both,  some  one  point  in  which  it  is  open  to  the  latter. 
If  there  were  no  correlation  between  the  two  there  could  be  no  victory  for  poesy.  And 
it  thus  appears  in  this  tragedy :  Count  Paris  is  overcome  by  Romeo  at  the  very  moment 
when  he  displays  the  highest  degree  to  which  he  can  bring  the  intensity  of  his  emotion. 
The  news  that  the  fairest  flower  of  Verona's  field  has  withered  away  in  death,  for  a 
moment  transports  him  out  of  himself;  he  goes  to  the  tomb  to  pay  his  last  homage 
to  the  departed.  And  it  is  at  this  very  moment,  the  highest  of  which  his  prosaic  pen- 
chant is  capable,  that  the  contrast  of  genuine  passion,  which  has  also  undergone  the 
same  experience,  and  has  also  reached  its  highest  intensity,  must  be  made  most  glar- 
ing. On  the  one  hand,  Paris  strews  flowers  on  the  bridal-bed  of  her  whom  in  life 
he  honoured ;  on  the  other  stands  Romeo,  who  has  devoted  himself  to  death,  who 
has  resolved  to  sacrifice  to  his  love  his  whole  existence,  who  has,  therefore,  already 
triumphed  over  death.  The  offering  of  Paris  seems  but  frosty  and  faint-hearted, 
more  like  a  mere  show  of  feeling;  while  in  Romeo  is  revealed  the  fearful  earnestness 
of  a  character  that  has  already  risen  above  its  earthly  being  in  the  intensity  of  its 
passion.  In  such  a  conflict  the  right  of  true  passion,  that  has  staked  life,  must  con- 
quer the  counterfeit  passion,  that  can  utter  but  frosty  words.  In  comparison  with 
Romeo,  Paris  has  no  rights.  Therefore,  at  the  tomb  Paris  receives  his  death-wound, 
and  yields  to  the  absolute  right  of  true  passion.  Words  must  give  way  to  deeds ; 
he  alone  can  be  the  judge  who,  about  to  sacrifice  himself  for  the  Idea,  has  already 
executed  on  himself  the  commands  of  the  spirit.  Therefore,  Romeo  is  the  sole  legiti- 
mate executioner  of  the  judgement  on  Paris, 

G.  G.  GERVINUS, 

{'Sh.  Commentaries,'  vol.  i,  p.  285,  1850,  Translated  by  F.  E.  Bunnett.  London, 
1863.)* — There  are  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  three  passages  of  an  essentially  lyric  nature : 


•  I  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  my  regret  that  I  have  not  seen  Gervinus  in  the  original     Ea 


GERVINUS. 


455 


Romeo's  declaration  of  love  at  the  ball;  Juliet's  soliloquy  at  the  beginning  of  the 
bridal-night;  and  the  parting  of  the  two  on  the  morning  following  this  night.  In  all 
these  passages  Sh.  has  followed  fixed  lyric  forms  of  poetry,  corresponding  to  the 
existing  circumstances,  and  well  filled  with  the  usual  images  and  ideas  of  the 
respective  styles.  The  three  species  we  allude  to,  are  :  the  sonnet,  the  epithalamium, 
or  nuptial  poem,  and  the  dawn-song  (  Tagelied). 

Romeo's  declaration  of  love  to  Juliet  at  the  ball  is  certainly  not  confined  within 
the  usual  limits  of  a  sonnet,  yet  in  structure,  line,  and  treatment  it  agrees  with  tliis 
fonn,  or  is  derived  from  it. 

Juliet's  soliloquy  before  the  bridal-night  (III,  ii)  (and  this  Halpin  has  pointed  out 
in  the  writings  of  the  Shakespeare-society  in  his  usual  intellectual  manner)  calls  to 
mind  the  epithalamium,  the  nuptial  poem  of  the  age.  Sh.  draws  over  it  the  veil  of 
chastity,  which  never  with  him  is  wanting  when  required. 

The  Poet's  model  in  this  scene  (III,  ii)  is  a  kind  of  dialogue-poem,  which  took 
its  rise  at  the  time  of  the  Minnesingers, — the  dawn-song.  In  England  there  were 
also  these  dawn-songs ;  the  song  to  which,  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  itself,  allusion  is 
made,  and  which  is  printed  in  the  first  volume  of  the  papers  of  the  Shakespeare- 
society,  is  expressive  of  such  a  condition.  The  uniform  purport  of  these  songs  is, 
that  two  lovers,  who  visit  each  other  by  night  for  secret  conference,  appoint  a 
watcher,  who  wakes  them  at  dawn  of  day,  when,  unwilling  to  separate,  they  dispute 
between  themselves,  or  with  the  watchman,  whether  the  light  proceeds  from  the  sun 
or  moon,  the  waking  song  from  the  nightingale  or  the  lark ;  in  harmony  with  this,  is 
the  purport  also  of  this  dialogue,  which,  indeed,  far  surpasses  every  other  dawn-song 
in  poetic  charm  and  merit. 

Thus,  then,  this  tragedy,  which  in  the  sustaining  of  its  action  has  always  been 
considered  as  the  representative  of  all  love-poetry,  has  in  these  passages  formally 
admitted  three  principal  styles,  which  may  represent  the  erotic  lyric.  As  it  has  pro- 
foundly appropriated  to  itself  all  that  is  most  true  and  deep  in  the  innermost  nature 
of  love,  so  the  poet  has  imbued  himself  with  those  external  forms  also,  which  the 
human  mind  had  created  long  before  in  this  domain  of  poetry. 

By  Friar  Lawrence,  who,  as  it  were,  represents  the  part  of  the  chorus  in  this 
tragedy,  the  leading  idea  of  the  piece  is  expressed  in  all  fulness,  an  idea  that  runs 
throughout  the  whole,  that  excess  in  any  enjoyment  however  pure  in  itself,  trans- 
forms its  sweet  into  bitterness,  that  devotion  to  any  single  feeling,  however  noble, 
bespeaks  its  ascendency ;  that  this  ascendency  moves  the  man  and  woman  out  of 
their  natural  spheres ;  that  love  can  only  be  a  companion  to  life,  and  cannot  fully  fill 
out  the  life  and  business  of  the  man  especially ;  that  in  the  full  power  of  its  first 
rising,  it  is  a  paroxysm  of  happiness,  which,  according  to  its  nature,  cannot  continue 
in  equal  strength ;  that,  as  the  poet  says  in  an  image,  it  is  a  flower  that- 

'  Being  smelt,  with  that  part  cheers  each  part  ; 
Being  tasted,  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart.' 

These  ideas  are  placed  by  the  poet  in  the  lips  of  the  wise  Lawrence  in  almost  a 
moralizing  manner,  with  gradually  increasing  emphasis,  as  if  he  would  provide  most 
circumspectly  that  no  doubt  should  remain  of  his  meaning.  He  utters  them  in  hi« 
first  soliloquy,  under  the  simile  of  the  vegetable  world  with  which  he  is  occupied, 
in  a  manner  merely  instructive,  and  as  if  without  application ;  he  expresses  them 
wamingly  when  he  unites  the  lovers,  at  the  moment  when  he  assists  them;  and 
finally  he  repeats  them  reprovingly  to  Roiaeo  in  his  cell,  when  he  sees  the  1;  tte» 
undoing  himself  and  his  pwn  work,  and  he  predicts  what  the  end  will  be. 


456  APPEXDIX. 

AvoiFe  to  the  family  feuds,  Romeo  is  early  isolated  and  alienated  from  his  ow« 
house.  Oppressed  by  society  repugnant  to  him,  the  overflowing  feeling  is  compressed 
within  a  bosom  which  finds  no  one  in  whom  it  may  confide.  Of  refined  mind,  and 
of  still  more  refined  feelings,  he  repels  relatives  and  friends  who  seek  him,  and  L: 
himself  repulsed  by  a  beloved  one,  for  whom  he  entertains  rather  an  ideal  and  imagi- 
nary affection.  Reserved,  disdainful  of  advice,  melancholy,  laconic,  vague,  and  sub- 
tile in  his  scanty  words,  he  shuns  the  light,  he  is  an  interpreter  of  dreams,  a  forebod- 
ing disposition,  a  nature  full  of  fatality.  His  parents  stand  aloof  from  him  in  a 
certain  background  of  insignificance ;  with  his  nearest  relatives  and  friends  he  has 
no  heartfelt  association.  The  peaceful,  self-sufficient  Benvolio,  presuming  upon  a 
fancied  influence  over  Romeo,  is  too  far  beneath  him ;  Mercutio's  is  a  nature  too 
remote  from  his  own.  He  and  Tybalt,  on  the  opposite  side,  are  the  two  real  pro- 
moters, the  irreconcilable  nurturers  of  the  hostile  spirit  between  the  two  houses. 
Tybalt  appears  as  a  brawler  by  profession,  differing  in  his  dark  animosity  and  out- 
ward elegance  from  the  merry  and  cynical  Mercutio,  who  calls  him  a  'fashion- 
monger.'  Mercutio,  a  perfect  contrast  to  Romeo,  is  a  man  without  culture,  coarse 
and  rude,  ugly,  a  scornful  ridiculer  of  all  sensibility  and  love,  of  all  dreams  and  pre- 
sentiments,  one  who  loves  to  hear  himself  talk,  and  in  the  eyes  of  his  noble  friend 
•  will  speak  more  in  a  minute  than  he  will  stand  to  in  a  month  ;'  a  man  gifted  with 
such  a  habit  of  wit,  and  such  a  humourous  perception  of  all  things,  that,  even  in  the 
consciousness  of  his  death- wound  and  in  the  bitterness  of  anger  against  the  author 
and  manner  of  the  blow,  he  loses  not  the  expression  of  his  humour.  According  to 
that  description  of  himself,  which  he  draws  in  an  ironical  attack  against  the  good 
Benvolio,  he  is  a  quarrel-seeking  brawler,  a  spirit  of  minute  contradiction,  too  full  of 
confidence  in  his  powers  of  strength,  and  as  such  he  proves  himself  in  his  meeting  with 
Tybalt.  Our  Romanticists,  according  to  their  fashion,  blindly  in  love  with  the  merry 
fellow,  have  started  the  opinion  that  Sh.  despatched  Mercutio  because  he  blocked  up 
the  way  for  his  principal  character.  This  opinion  rivals  in  absurdity  that  which 
Goethe,  in  his  incomprehensible  travesty,  has  done  with  this  character 

Now  to  that  insignificant  Benvolio  and  to  this  coarse  Mercutio,  who  degrades  the 
object  of  his  idolatrous  love  with  foul  derision,  Romeo  feels  himself  not  disposed  to 
impart  the  silent  joys  and  sorrows  of  his  heart,  and  this  constrained  reserve  works 
fatally  upon  his  nature  and  upon  his  destiny 

The  Juliet  who  is  to  replace  Rosaline,  the  heiress  of  the  hostile  house,  lives, 
unknown  to  him,  in  like  sorrowful  circumstances,  though  in  womanly  manner  more 
careless  of  them.  A  tender  being,  small,  of  delicate  frame,  a  bark  not  formed  for 
severe  shocks  and  storms,  she  lives  in  a  domestic  intercourse,  which  unknown  must 
be  inwardly  more  repulsive  to  her,  than  the  casual  intercourse  with  his  friends  can 
be  to  Romeo.  As  Romeo,  when  elevated  by  happiness,  and  not  depressed  by  his 
sickly  feelings,  appears  clever  and  acute  enough,  in  showing  himself  equal  or  supe- 
rior in  quick  repartee  even  to  Mercutio,  Juliet  also  is  of  similar  intellectual  ability ; 
an  Italian  girl,  full  of  cunning  self-command,  of  quiet,  steady  behaviour,  equally 
clever  at  evasion  and  dissimulation.  She  has  inherited  something  of  determination 
from  her  father ;  by  quick  and  witty  replies  she  evades  Count  Paris ;  not  without 
reason  she  is  called  by  her  father  in  his  anger,  '  a  chop-logic'  How  can  she,  in 
whose  mind  is  so  much  emotion,  whose  heart  is  so  tender,  and  in  whose  nature  we 
see  an  originally  cheerful  disposition, — how  can  she  find  pleasure  in  her  paternal 
home,  a  home  at  once  dull,  joyless,  and  quarrelsome  ?  Old  Capulet  (a  masterly 
desigi<   'f  the  poet)  is  a  man  of  unequal  temper,  like  all  passionate  natures,  quite 


GER  VINUS—  VEHSE. 


457 


calculated  to  explain  the  alternate  outbursts  and  pauses,  in  the  discord  between  the 
houses.  Now  in  his  zeal  he  forgets  his  crutch,  that  he  may  wield  the  old  sword  ir. 
his  aged  hands,  and  now  in  merrier  mood  he  takes  part  against  his  quarrelsome 
nephew  with  the  enemy  of  his  house,  who  trustfully  attends  his  ball.  On  one  occa- 
sion he  thinks  his  daughter  too  young  to  marry,  and  two  days  afterwards  she  appears 
to  him  ripe  to  be  a  bride ;  at  first,  with  respect  to  the  suitor  Paris,  like  a  good  father, 
he  leaves  the  fate  of  his  daughter  entirely  to  her  own  free  choice,  then,  in  the  out- 
burst of  his  passion,  he  compels  her  to  a  hated  marriage,  and  threatens  her,  in  a 
brutal  manner,  with  blows  and  expulsion.  Outward  refinement  of  manner  was  not 
to  be  learned  from  the  man  who  speaks  to  the  ladies  of  his  ball  like  a  sailor,  no 
more  than  inward  morality  from  him  who  had  once  been  a  '  mouse-hunter'  \sic\,  and 
had  to  complain  of  the  jealousy  of  his  wife.  The  Lady  Capulet  is  at  once  a  lieartless 
and  unimportant  woman,  who  asks  advice  of  her  nurse,  who,  in  her  daughter's 
extremest  suffering,  coldly  leaves  her,  and  entertains  the  thought  of  poisoning  Romeo. 
The  Nurse — Angelica — designed  already  in  her  entire  character  in  Brooke's  narra- 
tive, is  then  the  real  mistress  of  the  house ;  she  manages  the  mother,  she  assists  the 
daughter,  and  fears  not  to  cross  the  old  man  in  his  most  violent  anger ;  she  is  a 
talker  with  little  modesty,  whose  society  could  not  aid  in  making  Juliet  a  Diana,  an 
instructress  without  propriet)',  a  confidante  with  no  enduring  fidelity,  from  whom 
Juliet  at  length  separates  with  a  sudden  rejection.  To  this  society  is  added  a  con- 
ventional wooing  of  Count  Paris,  which,  for  the  first  time,  obliges  the  innocent  child 
to  read  her  heart.  Hitherto  she  had,  at  the  most,  experienced  a  sisterly  inclination 
for  her  cousin  Tybalt,  as  the  least  intolerable  of  the  many  unamiable  beings  who 
formed  her  society.  But  how  little  filial  feeling  united  the  daughter  to  the  family  is 
glaringly  exhibited  in  that  passage,  in  which,  even  before  she  has  experienced  the 
worst  treatment  from  her  parents,  the  striking  expression  escapes  her  on  the  death 
of  Tybalt,  that,  if  it  had  been  her  parent's  death,  she  would  have  mourned  them  only 
with  '  modem  lamentation.'  .... 

When  her  mother  announces  to  her  that  the  day  for  her  marriage  to  Paris  is  fixed, 
Juliet  is,  for  the  moment,  carried  out  of  her  womanly  sphere.  Just  elevated  by  the 
happiness  of  Romeo's  society,  she  has  lost  the  delicate  line  of  propriety  within  which 
her  being  moved.  Even  when  her  mother  speaks  of  her  design  of  causing  Romeo 
to  be  poisoned,  she  plays  with  too  great  wantonness  with  her  words  when  she  should, 
rather,  have  been  full  of  care,  and  when  her  mother  then  announces  to  her  the  un- 
asked-for  husband,  she  has  lost  her  former  craftiness,  with  a  mild  request  or  with  a 
clever  pretext  to  delay  the  marriage ;  she  is  scornful  towards  her  mother,  straight- 
forward and  open  to  her  father,  whose  caprice  and  passion  she  provokes,  and  subse- 
quently she  trifles  with  confession  and  sacred  things  in  a  manner  not  altogether 
womanly. 

Dr.  EDUARD   VEHSE. 

{*Sh.  ah  Protestant,  Politiker,  Psycholog  und  Dichter^  vol.  i,  p.  285.  Hamburg, 
1851.) — This  deadly  feud  between  the  Capulets  and  Montagues  is  the  black  soil  from 
which  the  dazzling  lily  of  Romeo's  and  Juliet's  love  blooms  forth,  a  love  whose  loy- 
alty in  death  is  depicted  with  all  the  ravishing  power  of  poetry.  This  love  gleams 
athwart  the  dark  thunderclouds  of  hate,  like  the  lovely  dawn  of  morning  that  coyly 
sends  abroad  its  rosy  beams ;  amid  the  horrors  of  yawning  graves  freshly  dug  by  the 
vild  fight  of  factions  it  stands,  like  a  bower  of  roses  wreathed  all  around  with  bloom- 
ing buds  near  dark,  gruesome  chasms.  The  conclusion  is  the  touching  reconciliatioo 
39 


458 


APPENDIX. 


of  the  two  families  over  tVie  lifeless  remains  of  their  children.  Romeo  and  Juliet  ait 
noble  types  of  the  consummated  love  of  two  natures  exquisitely  adapted  to  each  other, 
wherein  we  note  the  charm  that  each  feels  in  the  consciousness  of  being  perfectly 
understood  by  the  other  in  all  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  heart.  The  germ  of  their 
destruction  lay  not  alone  in  antagonism  to  the  traditions  of  their  families,  but  mainly 
in  the  deadly  rupture  in  the  community  of  Verona,  whereby,  from  their  very  birth,  they 
were  doomed  to  death.  Theii  death  was  the  result  of  that  hatred,  which,  from  time 
immemorial,  had  excited  their  families  to  inextinguishable  hostility,  and  which  was, 
for  the  first  time,  buried  in  their  grave. 

F.  KREYSZIG. 

{^  VorUsungtn  iiber  Sh.,'  vol.  ii,  p.  lS6.  Berlin,  1859.) — We  have  here  oae  ot 
those  inexhaustible  subjects,  which,  losing  themselves  in  the  night  of  time,  wander- 
ing from  nation  to  nation,  preserve  their  charm  under  every  variety  of  art  and  of 
language ;  sacred,  enduring  symbols  of  the  simplest,  and,  on  this  account,  of  the 
mightiest,  combinations  of  human  will,  feeling,  and  power.  But  in  passing  from  the 
joyous  summer-domain  of  Southern  Italy  into  the  rude,  sober,  and  grander  Teutonic 
world  this  stream  of  intoxicating  poesy  broadens  into  a  mighty  and  roaring  torrent, 
with  dangerous  quicksands  and  mysterious  depths,  but  also  with  a  greater  richness 
of  the  refreshing  element.  The  Romanticists,  and  a  majority  of  the  non-critical  pub- 
lic, praise  Romeo  and  Juliet  especially  for  the  southern  air  that  breathes  through  the 
poem.  It  is  the  glow  of  feeling  and  the  lovely  splendor  of  the  poetic  diction  that 
chiefly  determine  for  them  the  worth  of  the  piece.  Schlegel  gives  us  this  judge- 
ment in  a  celebrated  passage  in  his  Dramatic  Lectures.  And  Chasles  expresses 
the  same  opinion  in  his  picturesque,  truly  French,  manner.  [See  p.  432.  Ed.] 
....  Whose  heart  does  not  adopt  as  its  own  this  warm,  eloquent,  tender  praise?  It 
expresses  faithfully  and  vividly  the  first  overpowering  impression  which  the  won- 
drous wealth  of  this  drama  makes  upon  the  soul.  But  it  is  far  from  doing  justice  'o 
the  dignity  of  Sh.'s  tragedy.  It  does  not  penetrate  through  the  glittering  costume 
to  the  heart  of  this  work  of  art.  Sh.  does  not  content  himself  with  painting  Love 
in  its  raptures  and  its  agonies — he  draws  aside  the  veil  from  its  mysterious  connection 
T-ith  the  moral  forces  of  life,  he  lays  bare  the  most  hidden  fibres  by  which  it  pierces 
\  the  very  marrow  of  character ;  he  is  not  only  the  painter  of  the  great  passion,  he 
is  at  the  same  time  its  physiologist,  and  he  would  be  its  physician  were  there  any 
antidote  to  death.     Let  me  try  to  justify  this  judgement. 

One  is  struck  at  once  with  the  care  with  which  Sh.  in  this  piece  treats  all  the  sub- 
ordinate characters,  as  well  as  with  the  unusually  large  space  given  to  the  humour- 
ous scenes.  He  evidently  takes  pain  to  keep  always  before  us  the  place  where  the 
fate  of  the  lovers  is  unfolded  and  consummated.  We  are  not  allowed  in  the  moon- 
l.ght  of  the  magic  night  of  feeling  to  forget  the  clear  light  of  day  and  of  fact.  Romeo 
and  Juliet  are  presented  to  us,  not  as  the  abstract  lovers  of  the  troubadours'  songs  or 
of  love  stories,  but  as  distinct  persons  involved  in  concrete  relations  of  all  kinds. 
We  shall  dc  well,  therefore,  to  consider  these  relations  before  we  yield  our  judge- 
ments to  the  stormy  sea  of  poetic  raptures  and  tragical  passions.  Thus  much  is  clear 
at  first  sight — viz.,  that  these  relations  are  far  from  corresponding  to  the  conditions 
of  a  well-ordered  state  of  society.  We  have  before  us  a  piece  of  true  mediaeval, 
Italian  life,  as  Sh.  and  the  learned  of  his  time  knew  it  through  the  Italian  novelists, 
as  Goethe  has  made  it  known  by  his  translation  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.     Much  life 


KREYSZIG. 


459 


and  no  order,  high  intellectual  cultivation,  together  with  moral  degeneracy  and 
uncontrollable  passion,  all  the  blossoms  of  a  refined  culture  side  by  side  with  a  high 
degree  of  moral  rudeness.  Bloody  street-fights  alternate,  in  the  loves  of  the  cavaliers, 
with  brilliant  festivals ;  in  the  boudoirs  of  ladies  coarse  jests  of  nurses  are  made  to 
play  a  part  with  Petrarch's  sonnets,  and  the  phial  of  poison  has  its  place  among  the 
mysteries  of  the  toilette.  In  the  brilliant  array  of  the  highest  taste  and  art,  passion 
almost  loses  the  consciousness  of  its  antagonism  to  the  necessary  and  natural  order 
of  life.  The  drama  transports  us  to  Verona,  where  all  the  lights  and  shadows  of 
such  a  state  of  things  meet  in  the  greatest  abundance 

We  make  the  acquaintance  of  Romeo  at  the  critical  period  of  that  not  dangerous 
sickness  to  which  youth  is  liable.  It  is  that  'love  lying  in  the  eyes'  of  early  and  just 
blossoming  manhood,  that  humoursome,  whimsical '  love  in  idleness,'  that  first,  be- 
wildered, stammering  interview  of  the  heart  with  the  scarcely-awakened  nature. 
Strangely  enough,  objections  have  been  made  to  this  '  superfluous  complication,'  as  if, 
down  to  this  day,  every  Romeo  had  not  to  sigh  for  some  full-blown  Junonian  Rosa- 
line, nay,  for  half  a  dozen  Rosalines,  more  or  less,  before  his  eyes  open  upon  his 
Juliet. 

['  Romeo,  I  come !  this  do  I  drink  to  thee.']  The  question  arises :  Whence  is 
derived  this  victorious,  heroic  strength  in  the  tender,  weak  woman,  while  the  man  is 
borne  hither  and  thither  in  the  delirium  of  fear  and  hope,  like  a  reed  in  the  storm  ? 
Whence  these  Goethe-like  creations :  the  womanish  man,  and  the  woman  as  bold 
and  determined  as  she  is  sensitive,  in  the  world  of  Sh.  ? 

The  answer  is  simple :  In  this  tragedy  Sh.  makes  his  one  only,  but  brilliant  and 
decisive,  excursion  into  the  domain  wherein  the  poet  of  Werther  and  Charlotte,  of 
Fasso  and  Leonora,  Edward  and  Ottilia,  reigns  as  bom  lord  and  master.  I  mean 
the  narrow,  but  all  the  more  blooming  and  fragrant,  domain  of  purely  human  and 
individual  feelings,  and  especially  the  mysteries  of  the  most  powerful  of  all  purely 
subjective  passions,  the  passion  in  itself.  Love.  To  woman  this  domain  is  her 
native  home,  while  the  healthily  developed  man  enters  it,  so  to  speak,  only  as  a 
guest,  to  wipe  away  the  sweat  of  the  battle-field,  to  renew  his  strength  in  that  home 
of  his  heart  also,  for  the  stem  but  salutary  conflicts  of  manhood.  Woe  to  him  if 
the  place  of  rest  unfits  him  for  the  battle !  The  woman  who  gives  up  her  whole 
being  to  Love  rises  above  the  weakness  of  her  sex  to  the  dignity  and  heroism  of  a 
purely  human  ideality ;  the  man  to  whom  Love  becomes  the  one  aim  of  life,  swal- 
lowing up  all  else,  resigns  himself  with  riven  sails  and  without  helm  to  the  storm. 
Fallen  away  from  the  fundamental  law  of  his  being,  he  presents  the  unhandsome 
appearance  of  all  that  is  discordant  and  contradictory,  and  the  more  richly  he  is 
endowed,  the  greater  his  original  strength,  only  the  more  surely  doea  he  succumb, 
not  to  fate,  but  to  the  Nemesis  of  the  natural  law  which  he  has  violated.  Sh.,  soar- 
ip^  upon  his  eagle  wing  over  all  the  heights  and  depths  of  human  nature,  has  by  no 
nv^ans  overlooked  those  romantic  abysses  of  the  great  passion.  He  has  fathomed 
them,  he  has  unveiled  their  loveliest  and  their  most  fearful  mysteries,  as  few  have 
done  since.  And  it  is  a  weighty  testimony  to  the  massive  healthiness  of  his  character 
ihat  among  the  heroes  of  his  plays  Romeo  alone  falls  a  victim  to  love,  while  all  the 
other  knights  of  Love  grace  the  festal  array  of  Sh.'s  comedies.  .  ,  . 

The  vision  which  the  closing  scene  reveals  to  us,  beyond  the  horrors  of  death, 
through  the  glooming  peace  of  the  morning  as  it  breaks  over  the  graves  of  the 
lovers,  of  the  wholesome  yet  dearly-purchased  frait  of  so  much  suflfering  (I  refer  to 
tbe  reconciliat'on  of  the  two  families) — that  vision  dissipates  with  a  solemn  and  mas- 


460  APPENDIX. 

culine  harmony  all  the  discord  of  passionate  lament.  Not  with  the  inconiolabl« 
grief  of  a  happiness  irrecoverably  lost,  but  with  a  sight  of  the  serious,  saving,  and 
harmonizing  event,  ends  this  celebrated  love-tragedy  of  the  most  glowing  and  most 
tender,  but  also  of  the  soundest  and  most  manly,  of  poets. 

Dr.  THEODOR   STRATER. 

('Dit  Komposition  von  Sh.'s  Romeo  and  Julia^  104  pp.  8vo,  Bonn,  1861.) — What 
now  was  the  first  thing  that  the  dramatic  poet  had  to  do  ?  Evidently  it  was  the 
grouping  of  the  several  parts  of  the  story,  as  well  as  of  the  actors  therein,  according 
to  the  importance  of  each  to  the  progress  of  the  main  action :  thus  a  background 
and  a  foreground  are  provided  for  the  whole  picture,  of  course  with  certain  transi- 
tions and  interpositions. 

All  this  usually  appears  very  plainly  in  the  first  sketch  of  a  poetical  work  of  this 
kind ;  it  is  a  pity  that  we  so  rarely  have  these  first  outlines  or  plans  of  the  whole. 
We  now  have  here,  as  a  background  in  harmony  with  the  idea  of  the  whole,  the 
hostile  relations  of  the  families  of  the  Montagues  and  Capulets  in  the  beautiful  city 
of  Verona.  Thence  appear,  as  secondary  personages,  the  worthy  Prince  Escalus  and 
his  military  suite,  the  two  heads  of  the  families  at  feud,  and  their  consorts  as  well  as 
their  immediate  servants,  Abraham  and  Balthasar  on  the  Montague  side  (Romeo's), 
and  Sampson,  Gregory,  and  Peter  on  the  side  of  the  Capulets.  Male  and  female 
relations  and  acquaintances  of  the  two  families,  citizens  of  Verona,  watchmen,  musi- 
cians, and  similar  secondarj'  figures  come  naturally  in,  in  order  to  present  manifold  mot- 
ley scenes  in  the  life  of  a  great  city.  It  was  given  to  Sh.  first  to  understand  how  to 
educe  all  this  from  the  theme  itself.  Upon  this  background  the  '  mournfully  lovely 
history'  of  Romeo  Montague  and  Juliet  Capulet  passes  before  us.  The  foreground 
of  the  whole  is  filled  with  several  chief  incidents  of  their  love — Romeo's  first 
wooing  at  the  ball,  their  mutual  confessions  of  love  in  the  garden,  their  marriage, 
their  heroic  struggle  against  the  hostile  relations  of  their  families,  the  bliss  and  the 
woe  of  their  parting,  and  finally  the  reunion  of  the  lovers  in  death.  It  is  most 
wonderful  in  what  a  masterly  way  Sh.  has  used  all  the  artistic  material  at  his  dis- 
posal in  the  treatment  of  these  prominent  scenes.  Let  us  look  at  the  work  more 
closely.  The  two  lovers,  of  course,  are  the  chief  characters ;  with  them  certain 
persons  are  so  connected  as  subordinate  characters  that  they  appear  as  chief  persons 
of  secondary'  rank,  not  so  important  as  Romeo  and  Juliet  themselves,  but  coming 
very  prominently  forward  from  the  background.  And  here  it  is  that  a  fine  trait  of 
the  poet  appears,  that  he  places  at  the  side  of  Romeo  as  the  man  two  friends,  the 
good  Henvolio  and  the  humourist  Mercutio,  but  at  the  side  of  Juliet  her  family, 
father,  and  mother,  and  cousins,  and  that  precious  prattler,  the  droll  Nurse.  Accord- 
ingly, old  Capulet  and  Lady  Capulet  are  far  more  conspicuous  than  old  Montague, 
Romeo's  father,  and  Lady  Montague,  his  mother.  Among  Juliet's  relatives  het 
cousin  Tybalt  appears  most  prominently  in  the  foreground  as  the  fiercest  bully  of 
them  all,  as  the  hate  of  the  two  houses  personified.  This  '  butcher  of  the  silk  but 
ton,'  as  Mercutio  calls  him,  is  the  character  through  whom  the  tragical  catastrophe 
b  brought  about. 

But  among  these  subordinate  characters  Friar  Lawrence  (together  with  his  less 
importint  messenger)  occupies  quite  a  peculiar  position.  It  is  noteworthy  that  such 
a  good  natureil,  ready-to-help  Franciscan  Friar  is  a  standing  figure  in  the  Italian 
novels,  and  is   inti-\ately  associated  with  Italian  life.     But  Sh.  has  idealized  the 


STRATER.  461 

character.  In  his  hands  the  kind  Italian  monk  becomes  a  large-minded  ecclesiastic, 
a  wise  natural  philosopher,  a  shrewd  politician,  who,  in  the  full  freedom  of  an 
enlightened  mind,  stands  high  above  the  turmoil  of  the  passions  and  gives  his  help 
to  the  worthiest  aims.  This  character  has  evidently  been  apprehended  by  the 
Romanticists  in  a  very  one-sided  way,  and  this  is  probably  the  reason  why  Schlegel 
makes  the  Friar,  in  III,  ii,  express  himself  in  stiC  Alexandrines.  In  the  English 
there  are  no  Alexandrines,  but  five-fooc  iambics  as  usual.  Schlegel's  translation 
has,  moreover,  in  many  places  a  very  different  tone  from  that  of  the  original,  mostly, 
inde^id,  more  directly  suited  tc  the  German  mind,  but  sometimes  at  the  cost  of  the 
powerful  originality  of  the  Foet.     For  example,  Mercutio's  cynicism. 

Among  all  these  closely-connected  persons.  Count  Paris  stands  somewhat  isolated. 
He  is  the  husband-elect  of  Juliet  in  a  mariage  de  convknance,  graceful,  refined, 
highly  esteemed,  but  without  the  fascinating  power  of  a  genuine  passion.  Accord- 
ingly, the  contrast  he  presents  to  the  enthusiasm  of  Romeo  heightens  the  beauty  of 
true  love  in  comparison  with  the  repulsiveness  of  a  marriage  forced  upon  a  bride  by 
conventional  laws.     (Pp.  29-31.) 

The  genuine  and  the  true  in  works  of  art,  thoroughly  understood,  is  the  unfolding 
of  single  beauties  from  the  central  idea  of  the  whole. 

We  have  taken  a  considerable  step  towards  such  a  thorough  understanding  when 
we  have  separated  into  groups  the  persons  of  the  drama,  as  the  instruments,  charac- 
teristically different,  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  action,  and  have  brought  out  their 
importance,  greater  or  less,  to  the  whole  progress  of  the  drama.  As  we  see  now  how 
this  onward  movement  of  the  action  is  shaped  by  Sh.'s  hand  into  separate  acts  and 
scenes,  we  are,  at  the  same  time,  able,  by  means  of  this  survey  of  the  whole,  to  set 
forth  the  particular  and  more  considerable  deviations  which  the  Poet  has  made  from 
the  original  stories, — how,  according  to  his  first-conceived  idea,  he  has  in  one  place 
rejected  the  •  too  much,'  and,  in  another,  has,  out  of  the  overflowing  fulness  of  his 
poetic  gift,  enlarged  the  '  too  little,' — how  his  genius  was,  at  the  same  time,  a  '  crit- 
ical measure,'  and  a  '  creative  power,' — how  he  gave  light  and  order  to  the  whole 
by  his  analysis  of  its  several  parts — how,  to  place  Romeo  in  a  higher  light  in  relation 
to  his  friends  and  Count  Paris,  and  Juliet  to  her  family  and  surroundings,  he  has 
allusively  introduced  contrasts  more  or  less  sharp,  and  also  how  he  has  distinguished 
the  Montagues  and  Capulets,  each  among  themselves,  and  again  as  families  from 
each  other.  All  this  is  carried  out,  to  the  finest  variations  of  one  character  from  all 
the  rest,  to  the  slightest  difference  in  the  tone  of  the  voice  of  one  from  that  of  all 
the  others,  and  nothing  equals  the  enjoyment  when  we  are  able  to  trace  the  active 
power  moving  carefully,  yet  playfully,  and  at  will,  through  all  the  particulars  of  the 
piece  to  the  progress  of  the  whole,  and  we  hear  the  measured,  and  yet  richly  flexible, 
rhythm  of  the  entire  work,  sounding  like  a  many-voiced  harmony.  There  are,  in 
this  view,  many  more  treasures  yet  to  be  gathered  from  Sh.,  of  the  riches  of  which 
few  have  an  idea.  Sh.  is,  in  truth,  as  Vischer  calls  him,  '  a  yet  unknown  master 
of  lomposttion:     (Pp.  34,  35.) 

From  the  very  first  words  of  Benvolio  we  learn  that  the  hottest  summer  air  is  brood- 
ing over  the  streets  of  Verona,  the  sirocco  of  Italy,  which  is  so  maddening  in  its 
influence  upon  men.  '  For  now  these  hot  days  is  the  mad  blood  stirring,' — with 
this  one  word  the  Poet  spreads  living  nature  under  the  feet  of  the  quarrelling  cava- 
liers, gives  to  the  murder,  as  it  follows  blow  upon  blow,  its  reason,  and  to  the  whole 
picture  coloring  and  tone.  It  is  in  such  realizations  of  actual  nature,  as  the  ground- 
wO  "k  for  the  play  of  human  fates,  that  Sh.  is  a  master  beyond  all  others.  Alwayi 
39  • 


4.62  APPENDIX. 

and  everywhere  he  can,  with  a  single  touch — with  a  word — bring  before  us  the  whola 
scenery,  and  give  the  ground  lone  of  the  tragedy  connected  therewith.  Recall  the 
Northern  winter  night  at  the  beginning  of  Hamlet, — the  barren  Scottish  heath, 
with  its  ghastly  apparitions,  in  Macbeth, — and  the  storm  in  King  Lear !  This  is  the 
poetry  of  actual,  living  nature  as  it  supports  and  accompanies  human  life,  sounding 
in  accord  with  the  tones  of  human  sorrow  and  human  joy.  (p.  63.) 

Here,  at  the  close  of  the  Third  Act,  I  wish  to  call  attention  to  the  fearful  impres- 
sion which  every  great  tragedy  must  afford  of  the  ever-increasing  isolation  of  the 
hero  or  heroine  as  they  draw  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  catastrophe  of  their  impend- 
ing fate.  There  is  something  infinitely  tragic  in  the  thought  of  the  solitude  towards 
which  human  destiny  is  tending,  and  to  which  it  must  soon  yield, — it  is  like  -m 
eternal,  inexoiable  separation  from  home.  In  tragedies  where  the  motive  passion  is 
the  vigour  and  ambition  of  a  really  bad  man,  this  aesthetic  effect  becomes  almost 
ghastly.  Recall  Macbeth, — think  of  Richard  the  Third's  last  monologue  on  the  night 
before  the  decisive  battle.  Here,  in  our  drama,  this  tragic  tone  is  softened;  yet, 
even  here,  it  is  no  small  thing  for  a  noble,  womanly  nature  to  be  thus  deserted  by 
the  whole  circle  of  her  kindred,  and  thrust  back  upon  herself;  but  every  heroine 
must  thus  work  out  her  own  fate  alone,  just  as  every  human  being,  at  the  last,  must 
confront  death  all  alone,  (p.  75.) 

And  now,  having  followed  the  course  of  tne  tragedy  in  its  individual  parts,  let  Ub, 
in  conclusion,  give  one  more  glance  at  the  rhythm  of  the  whole.  We  have  already 
marked  how  the  Poet,  in  the  First  Act,  strikes  the  key-note  of  the  tragedy ;  next  single, 
detached  voices  fall  on  the  ear,  uniting,  at  the  close  of  the  Act,  in  a  joyous _/f«a/<r, 
with  a  wondrous  duett  between  the  two  principal  voices.  The  most  profound, 
artistic  feeling  is  manifest  in  the  largely  varied  repetition  of  this  identical  rhythm  in 
the  principal  portions  of  the  several  Acts,  for  the  relation  sustained  by  the  principal 
voices,  and  their  charming  arias,  to  the  fundamental  harmony  is  the  soul  of  the  whole 
drama,  and  the  alternate  prominence  of  these  voices  and  their  reunion  with  that 
harmony  in  ever-increasing  and  menacing  contrasts,  until  the  moment  of  their  final 
resolution,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  its  construction.  Twice  this  reunion  of  contrast- 
mg  themes  take  place  :  first  at  the  beginning  of  the  Third  Act — indeed,  all  the  Third 
Act,  as  the  centre  of  the  whole,  seems  powerfully  agitated  by  this  antithesis, — u,ud  then 
at  the  close  of  the  drama,  where  the  two  principal  voices,  exhaling  in  death,  still  have 
force  enough  to  resolve  all  the  dissonant  voices  in  the  fundamental  harmony  and 
absorb  them  into  their  own  melodious  accord.  Thus  the  significance  of  the  middle 
and  the  end — the  Third  and  the  Fifth  Acts  of  the  drama — is  clearly  shown. 

Betweenwhiles,  the  two  chief  voices  pursue  their  appointed  way,  now  united,  now 
apart  and  accompanied  by  other  voices,  then  meeting  in  perfect  accord  amid  the 
threatening  clash  of  war-notes — a  contrast  wondrous  in  its  effect ! — until  at  last  the 
final  parting,  heralded  by  sad  presentiments,  isolates  each  and  sends  it  lonely  to  its 
death 

Thus  the  entire  Second  Act  is  a  beautiful  variation  upon  the  Sonnet  m  the  First  Act, 
with  a  florid  accompaniment  of  subordinate  voices  already  evoked  from  the  funda- 
mental harmony.  At  the  Poet's  bidding,  Romeo,  in  one  melodious  chord,  first 
strikes  the  key-note  of  the  Act ;  with  frolic  leaps  the  voices  of  his  friends  intermin- 
gle, but  their  weaker  melodies  are  overborne  and  forgotten  as  the  first  notes  of  the 
voice  of  love  arise  again,  and  there  follows  the  wondrous  music  of  two  high-strang 
natures  with  all  the  sweet  tones  of  the  fervent  desire,  the  exalted  self-renunciation, 
l?ie  perfect  bliss  of  true  love.     But  a  fresh  contrast  is  presented  to  these  sun-illumined 


STRATER.  463 

heights  of  passion :  amid  the  rush  and  glow  of  affections  all  aflame  is  heard  the 
grave  voice  of  aged  wisdom  in  sacred  tones  of  reflection,  monition,  and  warning ; 
yet  the  exalted  force  of  the  noblest  of  the  passions  is  mightier  than  all  else ;  it  sweepi 
even  this  voice,  though  falteringly,  away  with  it  in  a  sustaining  accompaniment.  Now 
every  obstacle  seems  overcome,  and  the  bliss  of  love,  in  spite  of  its  perilous  founda- 
tion, assured.  This  delusion  instantly  lets  loose  an  all  but  unbridled  mirth  ;  there 
are  wild  bounds  of  delight  in  which  the  principal  voice  almost  outbids  its  fellows, 
and  the  bold  frolic  of  victorious,  happy  love  is  only  gradually  subdued  to  the  solemn 
chords  of  the  rites  of  the  Church.  Then  follows  pain,  as  if  poor  human  hearts 
attained  their  highest  bliss  only  that  the  contrast  of  their  appointed  destiny  might 
sting  the  more  sharply.  Twice  in  the  Third  Act,  for  each  of  the  principal  voices,  we 
have  the  startling  effect  of  sharpest  contrast  with  the  fundamental  harmony.  In 
such  various  rhythm,  such  full  chords,  does  our  great  Poet  utter  his  mighty  melodies  I 
And  in  how  masterly  a  way  are  these  contrasts  interwoven  alternately  !  First,  Romeo, 
with  a  heart-rending  cry  at  his  deed  of  death,  attests  the  whole  force  of  the  contrast 
between  the  bliss  of  his  love  and  the  fearful  meaning  of  the  bass  voices  that  now 
break  forth  around  him ;  then  the  second  principal  voice,  Juliet,  all  unconscious  of 
what  has  happened,  bursts  out  into  exquisite  melody,  breathing  the  fervent  poetry 
of  her  pure  yearning  for  her  lover-husband.  Then  comes  the  effect  of  this  contrast 
upon  the  second  voice,  and  its  further  effect  upon  the  principal  voice,  both  tremen- 
dous outbreaks  of  struggling,  suffering  heroism ;  then  the  last  happy  meeting  of  the 
lovers  and  their  painful  separation  amidst  all  these  horrors — this  is  a  momentary 
iolution  of  contrasts — until  at  last  the  second  of  the  principal  voices  meets,  for  the 
second  time,  the  full  antagonistic  effect  of  the  bass  voices  in  crescendo,  and,  strug- 
gling with  the  now  overwhelming  force  of  the  enemy,  attains  infinite  grandeur  and 
is  borne  aloft  to  the  most  elevated  utterances  of  death-defying  heroism.  This  is 
dramatic  poetry !  This  is  composition  !  This  is  art !  Profoundly  harrowing,  and 
ai  the  same  time  infinitely  touching,  is  Juliet's  ory  when,  bereft  of  her  lover,  she 
pours  out  all  the  woe  ©f  her  young  life  in  the  Friar's  cell,  bewailing,  beyond  all  else, 
that  she  must  tread  her  dark  path  alone  :  and  yet  what  energy  of  love  is  shown  in 
the  resolve  with  which  she  seizes  the  last  resource  left  to  her  despair,  and,  defying 
the  terrors  of  her  excited  imagination,  descends,  living  and  lonely,  into  the  fearful 
tomb  t  In  these  agonized  utterances  of  the  second  voice  we  hear  all  the  tremors  of 
death.  The  accompanjdng  voices  cannot  follow  hither,  all  light,  frolic  notes  have 
long  since  died  away,  and  the  rest  pursue  their  own  path  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened;  from  the  most  prominent  bass  voices  solemn  tones,  as  of  victory,  are  heard, 
but  they  soon  blend  in  the  universal  wail.  Once  more  a  jesting  accompaniment  is 
introduced,  as  if  still  to  preserve  the  hope  of  a  happy  ending. 

Then  begins  the  last  part  of  this  magnificent  symphony,  wherein  the  first  voice  is 
dominant,  as  the  second  voice  has  been  in  the  previous  part.  First  come  happy 
notes  of  hope — of  expectant  desire ;  suddenly  a  shock,  as  of  lightning  from  un- 
clouded skies,  falls  upon  the  hero,  and  he  thunders  forth  from  his  mighty  soul  a  defi- 
ance to  the  stars.  The  wealth  of  melody  in  this  voice  seems  crushed  and  buried  in 
the  gloom  of  the  fundamental  harmony,  yet  its  exuberant  richness,  its  lofty  flight 
and  noble  vigour  are  not  all  forgot :  once  more  the  desperate  caprice  of  a  strong 
heroic  soul  stirs  its  mighty  pinions,  and  in  a  strange  variation  sports  wantonly  with 
the  petty  penury  of  a  despised  life ;  ar  d  then,  for  the  last  time,  memory  revels  in  the 
beauty,  so  quickly  fled,  of  life,  youth,  and  love ;  but  from  these  tones  the  tremors  of 
Jeath  are  wafted  towards  us,  and  we  shudder  at  the  death-notes  of  love.     The  lasl 


464  APPENDIX. 

parting  melody  follows — the  last  quiver  of  the  breaking  heart ;  the  second  voice 
a  oused  once  more,  reveals  in  a  cry  of  agony,  in  unison,  its  imperishable  harmony 
with  the  chief  voice.  Then,  one  after  another,  the  subordinate  voices  emerge;  harsh 
dissonances,  notes  of  terror,  of  amazement,  of  horror,  all  unite  in  a  crescendo  of 
effect,  and,  borne  aloft  from  this  tumult  of  despair,  come  the  first  solemn  chords  of 
doom  admonishing  the  soul,  until  the  softly-echoing  death-lay  of  faithful  love  resolves 
all  hostile  bass  voices,  one  by  one,  from  their  g'oomy  depths,  melting  them  in  touch- 
ing harmony  into  a  peaceful  melody  of  final  reconciliation.  And  as  we  hearken  we 
seem  to  see  the  lofty  portals  of  the  world's  fate  unclose,  and  to  hear  transfigured 
forms  of  beatified  spirits  chanting  the  eternal  song  of  destiny. 
Such  is  the  poetry  of  Shakespeare  ! 

H.   T.   ROTSCHER. 

{'Die  Kunst  der  dramatischen  Darstellung,'  p.  332,  Leipzig,  1864.) — When  death 
is  the  result  of  an  heroic  resolve  it  is  especially  incumbent  on  the  actor  to  show  us 
this  victory  of  the  spirit  by  which  the  mortal  being  with  all  that  belongs  to  it  is 
renounced  as  utterly  worthless.  In  order  to  render  this  triumph  of  the  will  com- 
plete, death  itself  must  seem  to  be  the  merest  by-play.  But  the  strength,  the  trans- 
cendent force,  of  such  a  resolution,  by  which  a  man,  for  the  sake  of  an  idea,  breaks 
with  his  whole  earthly  existence,  should  be  seen  unfolding  right  before  our  eyes. 
Such  is  the  high  task  of  the  artist-actor.  When  once  we  appreciate  the  purpose  of 
the  soul,  and  fathom  the  depths  of  passion  out  of  which  the  man  rises  to  this  supreme 
determination,  the  mere  act  of  dying  becomes  only  a  natural  consequence,  the  repre- 
sentation of  which  ofifers  no  special  difficulty.  The  illusion  lies  in  the  truth  with 
which  the  actor  makes  us  see  the  inner  necessity  of  this  last  decision.  As  an  in- 
stance, above  all  others,  in  point,  we  adduce  Romeo,  who,  with  the  firmest  will  and 
the  most  indomitable  resolution,  takes  before  us  this  last  step.  Before  its  consum- 
mation his  whole  soul  flames  up  once  more  in  wild  ecstasy  and  agony  at  the  sight 
of  his  beloved  still  beautiful  in  death.  The  fulness  of  poesy  with  which  the  o'er- 
charged  heart  bursts  forth  can  have  its  source  only  in  a  super-earthly  e-xaltation  of 
the  spiritual  nature.  We  are  fain  to  see  in  it  the  premonition  of  an  end  resulting 
from  the  omnipotence  of  a  passion,  which,  no  longer  having  room  for  any  other  inter- 
est, flings  life  away  when  the  treasure  is  torn  from  it,  for  the  sake  of  which  it  were 
alone  worth  while  to  live.  .  .  . 

WTiat  a  world  has  come  into  being  in  Juliet's  soul  between  her  first  meeting  with 
Romeo  and  her  appearance  at  the  beginning  of  the  Second  Act !  The  whole  spring 
of  her  inner  life  has  in  the  interval  ripened.  The  closed  bud  has  been  penetrated  by 
the  full  beam  of  love,  and  lifts  itself  up  in  full  splendour  to  the  sun.  This  great 
change,  the  crisis  of  her  inner  life,  the  actress  must  render  perfectly  clear  to  us.  The 
naive,  childlike,  unrestrained  tone  of  the  first  scene,  which  gives  no  sign  of  slumber- 
ing power  and  passion,  has  yielded  to  the  tone  which  now  'ells  us  of  a  new  emotion 
swelling  into  life.  In  this  tone  the  hearer  ha'  x  presentiment  of  that  inner  force  of 
the  soul  which  has  taken  possession  of  the  whole  being  for  life.  Although  the  child- 
like air  of  the  First  Act  does  not  entirely  disappear,  yet  there  is  seen  through  it  a 
dull  glow  that  reddens  the  serene  heavens.  This  epoch  in  her  life,  revealed  in  the 
comparison  of  the  two  above-mentioned  scenes,  we  must,  in  the  representation,  be 
made  to  feel  in  its  full  truth  and  beauty.  And  what  a  diff^erence  is  there  between 
the  Juliet  of  the  close  of  the  Second  Act  and  her  first  appearance  in  the  second  seen* 


ROTSCHER—RUMELIN.  465 

ot  the  Third !  We  no  longer  see  the  restless,  anxious,  half-unconstrained,  half-love- 
intoxicated  being;  the  full  fruit  has  ripened.  The  woman  stanas  oefore  us,  in  the 
onbroken  energy  of  the  blissful  feeling  to  which  the  universe  has  become  personified 
in  her  husband.  The  actress  must  here  reveal  to  us  a  Juliet  rioting  in  the  poetry  of 
love,  and  yet  free  from  all  mawkish  sentimentality, — a  Juliet  transformed,  inspired 
by  the  fulness  of  life.  It  is  the  one  moment  of  full  content,  which  dreams  not  of  the 
thunderbolt  that  is  to  strike  it.  These  epochs  of  the  inner  life  to  which  we  refer  must 
be  clearly  distinguished  in  the  dramatic  representation,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  so 
connected  that  in  the  one  that  precedes  shall  be  contained  the  one  that  follows. 
If  the  acting  of  the  piece  does  not  achieve  this,  the  catastrophes  will  appear  to  us 
but  the  accidents  of  an  individuality  which  will  never  possess  for  us  any  organized 
life.  (pp.  418,  419.) 


GUSTAV   RUMELIN. 
('Shakespearesttidien,*  p.  65.     Stuttgart,  1866.)* — In  Romeo  and  Juliet  the  uniold 

•  I  should  have  thought  it  hardly  worth  while  to  insert  this  short  extract,  the  only  one  pertinent  to 
the  present  volume,  had  not  the  work  from  which  it  is  taken  lately  assumed  a  prominence  to  which  it  is 
scarcely  entitled  in  an  article  on  '  Shakespeare  in  Germany  of  To-day,'  in  Putnam's  Monthly  Maga- 
zine, October,  1870.  Mr  Rjjmblin's  essay  resembles  the  stone  which  Sir  James  Mackintosh  says 
Coleridge  threw  into  the  standing  pool  of  criticism.  It  made  a  great  splash,  but,  unlike  Coleridge'e 
missile,  it  sank  from  sight,  and  the  ripples  caused  by  it  quickly  subsided.  Mr  Rumelin  assumes  to 
be  a  Realist,  and  in  that  character  criticises  the  modem  German  worship  of  Sh.,  which  flourishes,  ha 
says,  to  the  neglect  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  The  Theatre  in  Sh.'s  time,  he  maintains,  was,  socially 
in  a  very  low  position ;  the  poet  himself  was  held  in  but  small  esteem  by  his  contemporaries ;  both 
by  his  birth  and  his  profession  he  was  excluded  from  intercourse  with  the  noble  and  refined;  he 
wrote  for  a  mixed  audience  (according  to  the  '  well-known  representation  of  Thomas  Nash'),  of  the 
jeuneste  dorie,  soldiers,  sailors,  servants,  and  wenches ;  among  whom  there  was  no  place  for  respect- 
able men  or  decent  women.  Furthermore,  says  the  critic,  in  all  Sh.'s  dramas  scarcely  one  can  be  found 
in  which  the  treatment  of  the  subject  is  properly  developed  or  practically  conceivable.  In  proof  is 
adduced  the  above  criticism  on  Romeo  and  Juliet,  of  which  alone  I  can  properly  take  notice  in  this 
volume.  Mr  Rumblin's  essay,  written  in  a  very  brilliant  and  dashing  style,  naturally  aroused  the 
German  Shakespeare  Society,  against  whom  it  was  directed.  In  the '  Jahrbuck  for  1867'  there  appeared 
three  answers — the  first  by  Mr  Karl  Elze,  who  treated  Mr  Rumelin  very  much  in  Sydney  Smith's 
Style,  on  the  principle  that  the  things  in  his  book  that  were  new  were  not  good,  and  the  things  that 
were  good  were  not  new.  'Mr  Rumblin's  attack  on  Sh.,' says  this  well-known  eminent  scholar,  'ii 
founded  almost  word  for  word  on  the  following  passage  in  Schlbgel's  Lectures  (}yorks,\o\.\\,  ■p. 
173) :  "  Of  what  avail  to  Sh.  was  the  cultivation  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived?  He  had  no  share  in  it 
Meanly  bom,  uneducated,  ignorant,  he  passed  his  life  in  low  company,  and  worked  at  day's  wages  to 
gratify  a  vulgar  mob,  without  a  thought  of  glory  or  posterity."  Long  ago  Schlegel  silenced  this  hos- 
tile criticism  by  showing  that  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  although  it  had  been  a  thousand  times 
repeated.' 

The  second  reply  in  the  '  Jahrhtch'  is  from  Dr.  Fribdr.  Thbod.  Vischer,  and  if  Mr  Rumelin 
wrote  his  volume  honestly  and  sincerely,  as  I  doubt  not  he  did,  and  with  a  single  eye  to  discover  Sh.'t 
true  esthetic  position  in  the  world  of  letters,  he  cannot  but  rejoice  that  he  has  been  the  means  of  elicit- 
ing such  a  masterpiece  of  aesthetic  criticism.  Dr.  Vischer  acknowledges  the  charm  of  certain  pas- 
sages in  the  Realist's  essay,  and  acknowledges  the  value  of  such  criticism  on  Criticism,  but  shows  that 
in  endeavouring  to  be  a  Realist,  Mr  Rumelin  goes  too  far  and  becomes  a  Mate'-ialist,  and  in  his  ual 
against  Sh.'s  critics  makes  a  fierce  and  undeserved  onslaught  on  the  poet  himself.  (The  substaiice, 
however,  of  all  these  replies  to  Mr  Rumelin  relates  to  Hamlet,  and  is  therefore  inappropriate  here.) 

The  last  reply  in  the  Jahrhtch  is  from  its  editor,  Fr.  v.  Bodenstedt,  who  exposes,  as  he  says,  Mr 
Rumblin's  superficial  knowledge.  The  '  well-known  description  in  Thomas  Nash'  is  nowhere  to  be 
found,  and  other  citations  also  are  shown  to  be  erroneous,  &c.,  &c.  In  reference  to  the  chapter  from 
which  I  have  taken  the  above  extract  from  Mr  Rumblin's  essay,  Bodenstedt  says, '  It  is  an  eternal 
jrty  that  Mt  Rumelin  did  not  live  in  Sh.'s  days  ;  the  poet  could  have  learned  so  much  from  the  Real- 

2E 


466  APPEXDIX. 

ing  and  conduct  of  the  action  are  in  general  excellent ;  but  the  means  taken  by  Friar 
Lawrence  to  prevent  the  marriage  with  Count  Paris,  and  which  alone  brings  on  the 
catastrophe,  is  the  strangest,  the  most  unnatural,  the  most  perilous,  ay,  and  the  most 
inconceivable,  that  the  boldest  imagination  could  have  invented,  while  various  easy 
and  obvious  means  to  the  same  end  never  once  are  thought  of.  We  in  vain  ask: 
^Tiy  does  not  Juliet  simply  confess  that  she  is  married  already,  and  confront  the 
consequences  with  the  heroism  of  her  love  ?  Why  does  she  not  flee  ?  She  comes 
and  goes  unhindered,  and  even  the  Friar's  plan  accomplished  no  more  than  that 
instead  of  starting  for  Mantua  from  her  father's  house,  she  would  have  to  start  from 
the  neighbouring  churchyard.  Why  does  she  not  feign  sickness  ?  Why  is  not  Paris 
induced  to  withdraw  by  being  informed  that  Juliet  is  already  wedded  to  another  ? 
Why  does  not  the  pious  Father  fall  back  upon  the  obvious  excuse  that  as  a  Christian 
priest  he  could  not  marry  a  woman  while  her  first  husband  was  still  living  ?  But  as 
it  IS,  the  tragic  result  is  brought  about  by  a  mere  accident,  in  the  shape  of  the  silliest, 
and  in  its  execution  the  rash  est,  of  all  devices. 


ULRICI. 

Cyahrbuch  der  Deutschen  Shaktspeare-Geselhchaft,^  \o\.\\\,  p.  9.  Berlin,  1868.) 
fin  reference  to  the  foregoing  questions  of  Mr  RuMELIN,  the  learned  commentator 
ta)rs :]  Shakespeare  would  simply  reply :  '  Thy  questions  prove,  good  friend,  that 
thou  art  no  poet;  the  remedies  whereby  thou  proposest  to  solve  the  difficulty  are  pro- 
»aic  to  the  last  degree,  whereas  the  remedy  that  Friar  Lawrence  adopts  is  thoroughly 
poetic,  and  his  reason  for  adopting  it  is  admirably  brought  forward :  on  the  one 
band,  regard  to  his  own  safety  recommended  it,  because  he  ought  not  to  have  mar- 
ried the  lovers  against  the  wishes  or  knowledge  of  the  parents ;  and  on  the  other,  it 
was  inspired  by  the  wish  and  the  hope  to  unite  the  hostile  houses,  if,  as  a  condition 
of  their  reconciliation,  he  could  offer  to  bring  to  life  the  daughter  of  one  house,  and 
by  the  hand  of  the  son  of  the  other  lead  her  back  to  them.' 

BODENSTEDT. 

{^Introduction  to  Translation  of  Romeo  and  Juliet ,  1868.) — Just  before  Romeo 
appears,  and  when  we  know  him  only  by  name,  the  language  takes  a  melodious,  poetic 
character,  which,  in  the  most  graceful  manner  possible,  brings  us  a  grateful  relief 
from  the  preceding  din  of  tongues  and  clash  of  swords.  We  become  acquainted 
with  him  as  an  inexperienced  youth,  whose  heart,  athirst  for  love,  glows  for  Rosa- 
line, a  cold  beauty,  who  neither  returns  nor  understands  his  passion.  That  Romeo's 
love  for  Rosaline  is  no  mere  boyish  fancy,  as  the  critics  generally  maintain,  but  a 
strong,  ardent  feeling,  the  poet  intimates  clearly  enough.  Romeo  held  his  beloved  Ro- 
saline for  the  glory  of  her  sex,  because  he  knows  no  other,  and  has  had  no  opportunity 
for  comparisons.      His    sympathizing  friend  Benvolio  seeks  to  give  him  such  an 

i«t,  not  merely  in  his  choice  of  respectable  home-spun  subjects,  but  also  in  the  art  of  composition,  and 
m  regard  to  the  unities.  The  world  would  have  been  spared  many  a  tear,  for  the  Realist  would  have 
(iven  «uch  hints,  so  delicate  and  so  thoroughly  artistic,  that,  if  Sh.  had  followed  them,  not  one  of  the 
heroes  of  his  tragedies  would  have  come  to  grief 

The  next  answer  to  Mr  ROmelin  comes  from  Dr.  Ulbici,  and  the  only  passage  in  it  referring  tc 
Romeo  and  JuJiet  is  givel  tbove.     £0. 


BODENSTEDT.  467 

opportunity,  because  thereby  he  sees  the  best  way  to  lead  Romeo's  passion  in  the 
right  path.  At  Benvolio's  suggestion  and  Mercutio's,  Romeo  goes  for  the  first  time 
into  a  great  company,  the  ball  at  old  Capulet's,  and,  not  to  be  known,  the  friends  go 
masked ;  he  sees  Juliet,  the  daughter  of  the  hostile  house,  who,  like  Romeo,  appears 
in  such  a  festal  gathering  for  the  first  time.  Scarcely  grown  out  of  child's  shoes, 
but  fourteen  years  of  age,  a  freshly  blooming  human  flower,  she  is  destined  J.iy  her 
parents  to  become  the  wife  of  the  young  Count  Paris,  whom  she  does  not  know,  and 
has  never  even  seen 

The  talk  of  the  lovers  in  the  still  night  is  so  full  of  sweet  magic,  that  one  is  so 
carried  away  by  it  that  he  can  hardly  so  much  as  say  to  himself:  This  bliss  is  too 
great  to  find  room  on  earth ;  for  such  overpowering  happiness  this  world  of  care  is 
not  made. 

Do  we  question  whether  it  can  last,  whether  it  can  possibly  endure  ?  Our  delight 
in  it  overcomes  everything,  even  the  fear  of  destruction !  What  is  time,  as  ordinarily 
measured,  for  those  blessed  with  such  love?  One  moment  of  such  blessedness  out- 
weighs centuries  of  cornTion  life.  And  besides  every  thoughtful  man  knows  that  over 
everything  high  and  beautiful  in  life  hangs  a  tragic  fate ;  its  bare  breathing  existence 
is  accounted  by  the  coarse  multitude  an  outrage ;  it  is  tolerated  only  in  Art.  But  in 
Art  one  must  not  suffer  his  enjoyment  of  the  truly  beautiful  to  be  disturbed  by  a  self- 
conceited  moralizing,  as  unfortunately  so  often  happens  when  the  broad  authority  of 
a  celebrated  name  gives  the  law  to  criticism 

The  maxims  and  sentences  of  Friar  Lawrence  are  so  geiieral  that  they  hardly  admit 
of  application  to  special  cases,  and  least  of  all  do  they  justify  the  opinion  of  various 
commentators  that  the  Poet  intended  in  them  to  bring  fully  out  the  leading  thoughts 
of  this  tragedy 

"  Passion  gives  power,"  says  the  Poet,  and  he  makes  the  calm,  moderate  wisdom 
of  Father  Lawrence  give  way  to  the  passion  of  Romeo,  not  the  reverse.  Indeed, 
could  we  for  a  moment  imagine  the  ardor  of  the  young  lovers  changed  or  cooled  by 
the  persuasive  breath  of  the  Friar's  lips  our  interest  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  would  be 
extinguished  instantly.  But  it  is  increased  when  the  Friar  gives  the  benediction  of 
the  Church  to  the  tie  woven  by  the  purest  and  noblest  passion. 

Romeo  and  Juliet  is  the  first  piece  in  which  I  have  ventured  to  enter  the  lists  with 
Schlegel,  the  special  founder  and  ablest  teacher  of  the  art  of  poetical  translation. 
It  is  also  the  first  piece  in  which  Schlegel  appeared  as  the  most  distinguished  inter- 
preter in  his  day  of  the  great  Briton.  The  first  specimen  of  his  work  (Scenes  from 
the  Second  Act)  was  published  by  him  in  1796,  in  the  third  No.  of  SchiUet's 
*Horen.^ 

That  my  translation  is  throughout  an  entirely  new  translation  every  intelligent 
reader,  upon  comparing  it  with  Schlegel's  and  with  the  original  text,  will  see  at  a 
glance.  I  venture  to  express  the  hope  that  it  will  be  found  to  be  an  improved  trans- 
lation. Were  I  not  myself  persuaded  of  its  worth,  I  should  not  presume  to  come 
before  the  public  with  it.  The  wannest  admirers  of  Schlegel  must  confess  that  his 
*  Romeo  and  Juliet'  is  inferior  to  his  subsequent  translations  of  other  plays.  Michael 
Bemays  says,  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  '  Romeo  and  Juliet,'  on  which  Schlegel  first 
tried  his  hand,  and  which  was  the  first  he  published,  did  not  undergo  a  revision  at 
a  later  period.  It  was  only  in  this  piece  that  he  made  large  use  of  the  freedom 
which  he  toolj  of  substituting  Alexandrines  for  the  five-foot  verse  of  the  original. 


468  APPENDIX. 


ALBERT   COHN. 

{'Sh.  in  Germany  in  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries:  An  Account  of 
English  Actors  in  Germany  and  the  Netherlands,  and  the  Plays  performed  by  them 
during  the  same  period.  London,  1865.) — We  have  no  evidence  to  show  that  this 
piece  [Romeo  and  Juliet]  was  ever  performed  in  Germany  earlier  than  1626,  and 
the  version  now  before  us*  is  probably  to  be  attributed  to  a  somewhat  earlier  date. 
The  employment  of  Alexandrines  is  a  proof  that  it  cannot  have  been  made  before  the 
introduction  of  that  species  of  verse  by  the  Silesian  poets.  The  places  mentionedf  give 
no  clue  as  to  the  place  where  the  play  was  first  produced,  but  dialect  and  orthography 
point  to  South  Germany  or  Austria.  Neither  have  we  here  the  authentic  text  as  it  was 
played  by  the  English  comedians,  but  a  version  calculated  for  the  requirements  of 
'.he  stage  at  a  later  period,  in  which  the  English  element  was  but  very  slightly  repre- 
sented in  the  companies ;  perhaps,  indeed,  was  little  more  than  a  reminiscence.  The 
reader  will  perceive  at  once  that  this  piece  does  not  proceed  from  any  of  the  numer- 
ous sources  on  which  the  Shakespearian  tragedy  is  based.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
Sh.'s  play,  almost  scene  for  scene ;  many  passages,  indeed,  are  literal  translations. 
Though  certainly  against  the  intention  of  the  editor,  there  are  even  instances  in 
which  really  poetical  passages  have  slipped  in  from  the  original  unobserved,  the 
poetry  of  which,  however,  can  only  be  discerned  after  they  have  been  divested  of  the 
jargon  in  which  he  has  clothed  them.  But  the  reader  will  easily  perceive  how  he 
has  compensated  himself  for  such  mistakes,  by  the  omission  of  all  the  finer  motives 
of  this  magnificent  tragedy,  as  also  by  the  insertion  of  comic  scenes  which  are  utterly 
devoid  of  taste,  and,  by  their  disgusting  coarseness,  obliterate  even  the  very  small 
amount  of  tragic  feeling  of  which  this  author  is  capable.  But  the  treasure  of  poetic 
thought  contained  in  this  sublime  fiction  is  so  inexhaustible,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  mutilated  form  in  which  it  is  presented  to  us,  we  can  still  imagine  that  it  must 
have  excited  immense  interest  in  a  German  audience  of  the  seventeenth  century.  .  .  . 

These  were  the  actors  who,  as  the  earliest  representatives  of  the  English  stage 
abroad,  initiated  the  Germans  into  dramatic  art,  and,  when  Sh.  was  still  living,  trans- 
ferred his  works  to  German  ground ;  but  nearly  a  century  elapsed  after  the  English 
comedians  had  disappeared  until  Sh.'s  name  appeared  in  Germany.  The  Gallo- 
mania which  infected  the  nation,  exhausted  by  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  and  corrupted 
the  morals,  gradually  destroyed  the  effect  of  English  influence,  and  interrupted  for  a 
long  time  that  development  of  free  dramatic  art  so  auspiciously  begun  under  an 
early  impulse  received  from  the  representatives  of  the  old  English  stage.  It  was 
only  in  an  indirect  manner,  and  most  probably  without  any  acquaintance  with  Sh. 
himself,  that  Andreas  Gryphius,  the  only  German  dramatist  of  note  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  became  indebted  to  English  models  for  the  vast  superiority  which  he 
attained  over  his  contemporaries.  Sh.'s  name  occurs  for  the  first  time  in  Germany 
in  Morhoff's  '  Unterricht  von  der  deutschen  Sprache  und  Poesie,'  1682,  but  the 


•  Mr  CoHN,  in  his  very  valuable  contribution  to  Shakespeanan  literature,  prints  the  German  text 
^th  a  literal  English  translation  by  Mr  Lothar  Bucher  in  parallel  columns)  from  'the  only  known 
MS.  in  the  Imperial  Library  at  Vienna.  Extracts  from  it  have  been  published  (very  incorrectly)  in 
Eduakd  Dbvrient'k  Gtschickte  dtr  deutschen  Schatupielkurut,  Band  i,  Leipzig,  1848,  pp.  40S-434. 
The  present  impression  is  the  first  ever  published  of  the  complete  play.  The  MS.  has  no  title-pag* 
and  bears  no  date.'     Eo. 

t  As  where  the  Clown  speaks  of  Kollschin,  Budweiss,  Goppliu,  Freystadt,  Lint,  as  places  wbert 
kusbands  and  wives  have  respectively  more  than  one  wife  or  husband.     Ed. 


COHN.  469 

author  at  the  same  time  confesses  himself  perfectly  unacquamted  with  his  works. 
We  next  meet  with  Sh.'s  name  in  Barthold  Feind's  '  Gedanken  von  Jer  Opera,'  pre- 
ceding a  collection  of  his  poems,  1708;  but  all  that  he  has  to  say  of  Sh.  is  that, 
according  to  '  M.  le  Chevalier  Temple,'  some  persons,  on  hearing  a  reading  of  the 
tragedies  of  '  the  famous  English  tragedian,  Shakespeare/  could  not  help  sobbing 
loudly  and  shedding  floods  of  tears.  As  late  as  1740  the  name  of  Sh.  could  appear 
in  the  works  of  the  learned  Bodmer  in  the  guise  of  '  Saspar,'  the  best  proof  that  he 
knew  Sh.  only  from  hearsay.  The  first  who  was  favoured  with  the  gift  of  appre- 
ciating Sh.  to  a  certain  extent  was  a  Baron  von  Borck,  Prussian  ambassador  in 
London,  who  in  1 741  translated  'Julius  Csesar'  into  German  Alexandrines,  a  very 
creditable  performance  for  that  time,  which,  however,  was  tabooed  by  Gottsched  and 
his  school.  But  what  must  have  been  the  mortification  of  the  latter  when  he  saw 
his  disciple,  John  Elias  Schlegel,  the  dramatist,  so  much  appreciating  Sh.  as  to  admit 
his  superiority  over  Gryphius !  and  this  he  really  did  in  a  periodical  founded  by 
Gottsched  himself,  the  blind  worshipper  of  French  taste.  A  few  other  faint  voices 
made  themselves  heard  in  praise  of  Sh. ;  the  boldest  of  these  belongs  to  a  writer  in 
a  periodical,  •  Der  Englische  Zuschauer,'  1742,  who  had  the  courage  to  confess  that 
he  would  much  rather  read  any  play  of  Sh.,  however  '  irregular,'  than  any  of  the 
most  '  regular'  productions  of  the  leading  school.  A  few  persons  only,  however, 
could  boast  of  so  intimate  an  acquaintance  with  Sh.,  and  for  a  series  of  years  the 
latter  continued  to  remain  almost  unknown  in  Germany.  In  Zedler's  large  Cyclo- 
paedia, 1743,  Sh.  is  mentioned  as  having  achieved  great  skill  in  poetry,  'although 
he  was  no  great  scholar,'  and  as  having  had  '  some  subtle  controversies  with  Ben 
Jonson  to  the  advantage  of  neither  of  them;'  and  even  in  1751  the  learned  J5cher, 
in  his  '  Gelehrten-Lexikon,'  copied  this  luminous  dictum  with  the  only  addition : 
'  He  had  a  humourous  turn  of  mind,  but  sometimes  could  be  also  very  grave,  and 
excelled  in  tragedies.'  It  was  reserved  for  Lessing,  the  great  regenerator  of  the 
German  drama,  to  impress  his  countrymen  with  the  genius  of  Sh.,  and  with  the  con- 
viction that  a  conscientious  study  of  his  works  was  the  only  means  of  rescuing  the 
drama  from  total  decline.  The  enthusiasm  with  which  the  Germans  responded  to 
this  call  of  their  greatest  critic,  and  the  results  since  obtained  by  them  in  the  field 
of  Shakespearian  literature,  are  sufficiently  well  known ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  no  other  nation  has  ever  made  a  foreign  poet  so  completely  its  own  as  the  Ger- 
mans have  done  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare. 
40 


470  APPENDIX. 

CASTELVINES   Y   MONTESES. 

TRAGI-COMEDIA. 

Bv  Frey  Lope  Felix  de  Vega  Carpio 

(Translated  by  F.  W.  CosENS.  One  hundred  and  fifty  copies  printed  for  Private 
Distribution.  London,  1869.)*  Act  \,  scene  i,  opens  with  Roselo  Monies  (Romeo), 
Ansehno  (nearly  corresponding  to  Benvolio),  and  Marin,  Jioselo's  servant,  standing 
in  front  of  the  mansion  of  the  CasUlvines,  which  is  lit  up  for  feasting  and  revelry. 
Roselo,  '  longing  for  pleasures  prudence  doth  forbid,'  persuades  Anselmo  to  go 
masked  to  the  ball  with  him,  and  in  the  discus-^ion  the  deadly  feud  between  the  two 
houses  is  fully  set  forth,  without  any  explanation  of  its  origin. 

Scene  ii,  Garden  of  the  House  of  Antonio  (old  Capulet),  with  Guests,  Musicians, 
&c.  Roselo  and  Anselmo  enter  masked;  the  former  catching  sight  of  fulia,  to 
whom  her  cousin,  Otavio,  is  making  love,  exclaims  :  Oh,  wondrous  beauty !  in  deed 
and  truth  thou  a  Castelvine's  heavenly  seraph  art.  Anselmo  tries  to  make  him  resume 
his  mask,  which  in  his  enthusiasm  he  had  removed,  but  he  refuses,  on  the  score 
(which  seems  to  have  just  occurred  to  him)  that  it  is  '  most  treacherous  thus  to  steal 
within  this  good  man's  house.'  Antonio  (Julia's  father)  recognizes  Roselo,  and  his 
rage  is  excessive,  but  he  is  soothed  and  calmed  by  his  brother-in-law,  Teobaldo,  the 
father  of  Otavio.  Julia  is  struck  with  Roselo' s  beauty,  and  tells  her  cousin,  Dorotea, 
that  Love  himself  '  in  masquerade  would  look  like  yonder  gentle  youth,  all  grace.' 
Roselo  and  Otavio  both  make  love  to  jhtlia  at  the  same  time,  and  she  gives  her 
hand  to  Roselo,  but  turns  her  face  to  Otavio  ;  Roselo  understanding  that  her  conver- 
sation is  meant  for  him,  although  it  is  addressed  to  Otavio.  In  this  way  jfulia  very 
adroitly  gives  a  ring  to  Roselo,  and  makes  an  appointment  to  meet  him  in  the  Gar- 
den. After  the  guests  have  all  departed  Julia  discovers  Roselo" s  name,  and  bids  hei 
maid,  Celia,  go  to  him  on  the  morrow,  and  in  her  name  retract  all  that  she  had  said. 
In  scene  iii,  between  Arnaldo,  Roselo's  father,  and  his  servant,  Lidio,  we  are  in 
formed  that  Roselo  is  fond  of  fencing,  horses,  tennis,  and  dicing  now  and  then. 

Scene  iv,  in  Antonio's  orchard ;  Julia  gets  rid  of  Otavio  by  asking  him  to  go  and 
lull  to  sleep  her  father,  who  rests  but  ill,  and  afterwards  come  and  take  such  poor, 
ungracious  love  as  she  may  have  to  offer  him.  Otavio  retires  and  Roselo  scales  the 
wall  by  means  of  a  rope-ladder  and  enters,  gaily  dressed.  Julia  tells  him  that  it  is 
impossible  to  continue  their  friendship  now  that  she  has  discovered  his  name,  and 
begs  him  to  leave  her. 

Julia.     WTien  first  thou  didst  entrap  my  wand'ring  eye. 

The  sight  was  love, — for  doth  not  all  Verona 

Full  loudly  sing  Roselo  Monies'  praise  ? — 

'Twas  then  I  licence  gave  for  words, 

*Twas  then  I  own'd  myself  thy  slave ; 

But,  since  I  know  thy  name  and  kin, 

My  love  ebbs  back,  all  chill'd  at  heart. 

Fearing  all  ills,  aye,  even  dark  death's  hand. 

•  1  cannot  but  think  that  others  will  be  as  much  interested  as  I  have  been  in  noting  the  difTerent 
treatment  that  the  same  story  received  at  the  hands  of  Shakespeare's  greatest  dramatic  contemporary 
out  of  England ;  I  have  therefore  given  a  synopsis  of  each  Act  and  scene.  The  translation  by  Mr 
CosKNS  is  as  faithful,  presumably,  in  its  rendering  of  the  original  as  it  certainly  is  beautiful  in  typo 
Criphical  execution,  and  should  be  highly  prized  by  all  students  of  Shakespeare.     £d. 


LOPE   DE    VEGA.  47 1 

Roielo  says  that  he  will  do  anything  she  asks  him,  except  refrain  from  loiing  her, 

Roselo.     I'd  have  thee  all  mine  own,  sweet  star. 
In  secret,  if  thou  wilt :  a  close  friendship 
With  a  holy  friar  I  have,  and  he,  I  know, 
Will  aid  us ;  but  should  his  conscience  scruples  hold, 
I'll  find  some  subtle  means  of  cure. 

yulia.     My  very  soul  doth  tremble  at  thy  words. 

Roselo.    What  fears  my  dearest  Julia  ? 

yulia.     More  than  a  thousand  ills. 

Roselo.    They  are  but  fancied  ills ;  once  wed. 
All  rivalry  would  cease,  all  hatred  should  be  dead. 
Love  beckons  by  this  safe  and  secret  road 
To  hold  our  houses  free  from  hate, 
And  through  our  love  shall  smile  everlasting  peace 

Julia.     Look  that  thou  no  promise  dost  forget. 

Roselo.    Nay,  this  I  swear,  forgetting  such, 
May  heaven  desert  me  at  my  need. 

Julia.     Swear  not,  for  I  have  read 
That  ready  swearers  have 
Scant  credit  with  the  world  or  God. 

Roselo.     WTiat  shall  I  say,  sweet  maid  ? 

Julia.     Say  that  I  thy  heart's  desire  am. 

The  Second  Act  opens  with  a  conversation  between  Teobaldo  and  his  servam, 
Fesenio,  in  an  open  space  before  a  Church  in  Verona.  Fesenio  tells  his  master  that 
two  ladies  of  the  Monteses  had  pushed  aside,  in  the  church,  the  chair  of  the  Donna 
Dorotea  {Teobaldo" s  daughter).  This  insult  brings  about  the  catastrophe  of  the 
drama.  Teobaldo  is  furious,  and  in  his  rage  apparently  exaggerates  the  offence : 
*  Such  'haviour  would  disgrace  a  very  Goth,  To  jostle  noble  ladies  from  their  seats.* 
While  they  are  talking  Otavio,  Julia,  and  Celia  approach  and  enter  the  church. 
Teobaldo  sends  Fesenio  to  bid  Otavio  come  out  to  him,  and  as  soon  as  the  young 
man  appears  the  father  upbraids  him  for  dangling  forever  at  his  cousin's  heels, 
utterly  heedless  of  the  family  honour.  After  having  thoroughly  roused  Otavio  by 
calling  him  a  coward  and  a  fool,  he  tells  him  that  ♦  the  seats  prepared  for  his  kindred 
in  the  church  these  craven  Montes  dared  to  misplace,'  and  they  both  then  rush  into 
the  church  to  find  the  ♦  coward  crew.'  ^^^lile  they  are  gone  Roselo  and  his  friend 
Anselmo  appear,  and  the  former  tells  Anselmo  how  he  has  been  married  to  Julia  by 
A  urelio,  although  the  good  friar  begged  with  tears  to  be  excused  from  performing  the 
ceremony.  Anselmo  can  see  in  it  nothing  but  misfortune,  owing  to  his  friend's  rash- 
ness; and  asks  Roselo  how  he  manages  to  visit  his  wife. 

Roselo.     In  the  soft  silence  of  the  dreamy  night. 

Beneath  the  orange-tree  that  shades 

Her  lattice ;  and  by  the  cedars  dark  I  place 

A  corded  ladder  strong ;  Celia  doth  wait 

While  we  sweet  converse  hold. 

WTien  day  shakes  loose  her  golden  locks, 

I  bid  adieu,  and  by  the  cords  descend. 
Anselmo  pnidently  suggests  that  Otavio  may  catch  him,  but  Julia,  it  seems,  provides 
aga'nst  it,  because 


472  APPENDIX. 

Beneath  the  orchard's  wall,  from  eventide 

Till  midnight,  she  speaks  and  walks  with  him ; 

He  then  doth  bid  farewell,  and  homeward  goes 

To  dream  until  the  morrow  sunlight  knows. 
Anselmo.     And  this  is  loving  woman's  wit ! 

Hast  thou  no  jealous  fear  his  words 

May  not  be  such  thy  wife  should  hear  ? 
Roselo.     I  often  in  close  ambush  lie, 

And  hear  each  word. 
Their  conversation  is  interrupted  by  terrible  outcries  issuing  from  the  church,  in 
which  Antonio  {Roselo's  father)  is  heard  to  shout — 

Although  thou  hast  the  seats 

As  high  as  heaven's  vault, 

I  would,  as  I  do  now,  seize 

And  cast  them  to  the  lowest  hell. 
Roselo  recognizes  the  voice  and  rushes  into  the  church,  whence  immediately  issue, 
with  drawn  swords,  Antonio,  Teobaldo,  Otavio,  and  Fesenio,  who  place  themselves 
on  one  side,  Amaldo,  Lidio,  Marin,  and  Anselmo  on  the  other;  Roselo,  in  the  cen- 
tre, acting  the  part  of  a  most  earnest  peace-maker,  offers  to  replace  the  seats  in  the 
church  whence  they  were  removed,  but  Otavio  will  not  listen  to  reason.  As  a  last 
appeal,  Roselo  cunningly  proposes  that  Otavio  shall  marry  Andrea  Monies,  while  he 
marries  Julia  Castelvin,  whereby  '  every  cause  for  strife  and  broil  would  cease.'  But 
nothing  will  appease  the  furious  Otavio,  even  more  enraged  at  this  last  insidious 
proposal,  and  in  the  nght  which  follows  he  is  killed  by  Roselo,  who,  as  the  Duke  of 
Verona,  with  soldiers,  appears  on  the  scene,  takes  refuge  in  a  tower,  and  is  stoutly 
defended  by  his  servant,  who  hurls  stones  at  those  below.  The  Duke  endeavours  to 
find  out  the  guilty  parties,  and  all  assert  that  Otavio  was  alone  to  blame ;  the  Duke 
having  persuaded  Roselo  to  descend  from  his  tower,  appeals  to  Julia  to  know  whether 
Roselo  is  guilty  of  her  cousin's  death. 

Roselo.     And  I  in  truth  dare  ask  her  if  he  fell 

In  fair  and  open  conflict,  ay  or  no  ? 

Julia.     Most  noble  Duke,  albeit  I  have  lost 

A  cousin  and  protector  both,  a  thousand  times 

I  say  but  yes  and  yes  again,  for  truth 

Doth  force  these  words  from  out  my  hapless  lips. 
Duke.     Saw'st  thou  the  fray,  dear  lady? 
Julia.     From  yonder  holy  porch,  the  fray 

Was  seen  of  all  Verona.     This  gentleman 

Did  almost  sue  for  peace ; 

Otavio,  proud  and  haughty  as  Castelvin's  son 

Should  ever  be,  did  seek  a  cause,  alas  1 

For  quarrel  with  this  Monies  youth —  \_Falls  on  Celia's  neck. 

Oh,  heaven  '  then  my  witness  is  in  truth — 

I  nothing  saw  through  blinding  tears. 
All  witnesses  being  in  favor  of  Roselo,  the  Duke  is  puzzled,  and  appeals  to  the  Cap 
lain  of  the  soldiers. 

Duke.     — Good  Captain,  what  for  prudence'  sake 

Should  now  mark  best  our  course  ? 

Captain.     From  out  Verona  he  must  banished  be, 

For  if  he  stay  a  tumult  will  arise 


LOPE   DE    VEGA.  473 

Duke.     Thy  counsel  doth  command  our  thoughts. 
Roselo  is  therefore  banished,  but,  in  the  meantime,  the  Duke  takes  him  to  his 
palace  as  '  an  honoured  guest.' 

In  the  second  scene  Roselo  takes  leave  of  Julia,  promising  that  he  will  come  in 
secret  to  Verona  '  when  only  stars  can  see,  until  favouring  sunshine  smiles  with  hope 
apon  their  loves.'  The  two  servants,  Marin  and  Celia,  also  make  love,  and  part 
with  similar  promises.  The  interview  is  interrupted  by  Julians  father,  who,  hearing 
strange  voices  in  the  orchard,  calls  for  his  '  halberd,'  and  Roselo  escapes  with  Marin 
over  the  wall.  When  Antonio  enters,  Julia  explains  her  tears  by  her  sorrow  for 
Otavio's  death,  whom  she  .nourns,  not  only  as  her  cousin,  but  as  her  prospective 
husband.  This  sets  her  father  to  thinking,  and  after  her  departure  he  confides  to  his 
servant  that  he  must  provide  a  husband  for  her : 

Her  husband  should  be  brave  and  noble,  rich, 

And  must  well-favour' d  be. 

Count  Paris  did  entreat  me  for  her  hand, 

Ere  he  did  journey  with  the  Duke ; 

He  will  return  anon.     Think'st  thou,  good  Lucio, 

She'll  mourn  the  dead  forever,  while 

A  living  lover  woos  her  tearful  eyes  to  smile  ? 
The  third  scene  is  laid  on  the  road  to  Ferrara.  Count  Paris,  Roselo,  and  Martn 
enter.  Count  Paris  says  that  he  has  turned  his  back  on  Verona,  having  found  out 
that  Julia  was  averse  to  his  wooing,  and  that,  although  he  was  closely  bound  in 
friendship  to  the  Castlevines  and  to  the  dead  Otavio  especially,  yet  Roselo  had  acted 
so  nobly,  that,  for  his  sake,  he  was  ready  to  be  a  Monies.  Roselo  gratefully  accepts 
his  offers  of  friendship  and  protection  as  far  as  Ferrara,  for  he  is  much  in  dread  of 
the  bands  of  hired  assassins  which  Teobaldo  had  sent  after  him.  While  they  are 
talking,  a  messenger  enters,  bearing  a  letter  from  Antonio,  begging  Paris  to  return  to 
Verona  to  avenge  Otavio's  death  slain  by  Roselo" s  treacherous  steel,  and  ending  with, 
'  Julia  a  husband  waits — I  a  son-in-law  elect.'  Paris,  of  course,  at  once  turns  back 
to  Verona  after  assuring  Roselo  that  he  will  still  retain  the  same  affection  as  ever  for 
him  after  he  is  married  to  Julia.  After  his  departure  Roselo' s  excitement  knows  no 
bounds,  and  he  fairly  shouts  aloud  denunciations  of  Julians  perfidy,  which  he  at  once 
takes  for  granted 

The  Third  Act  opens  with  an  interview  between  Antonio  and  Julia.  Antonio 
lells  his  daughter  that  he  has  pledged  his  word  ('  and  Castelvin's  honor  knows  no 
tamt  nor  shade')  that  she  shall  marry  Paris.  Julia  is  horror-struck,  and  says 
aside,  '  Dare  I  not  die  ?  What  fear  I  then  ? — thrice  welcome  death  !'  then  aloud  to 
her  father : 

I  am  ready,  and  to-day,  to  wed  the  Count ; 
Whene'er  he  cares  to  claim  my  hand 
'Tis  his ! 

Antonio.     Thou  speakest  bravely. 
Julia.     Sir,  'tis  in  vain  to  seek  to  cross  thee  more : 
Thine  honour  is  as  dear  to  me  as  is  mine  own. 
Already  call  me,  sir.  Count  Paris'  wife. 
Antonio  overjoyed  hastens  off  to  prepare  for  the  wedding. 

Julia.     Portia  did  seek  stem  death  in  stifling  flame ; 
Lucretia's  steel  was  sharp  and  quick ;  Dido  with  sword 

40* 


474  APPENDIX. 

At  breast,  sighed  sweet  memories  'neath  the  mooD 
To  her  brave  Trojan  youth,  weeping  salt  tears 
To  swell  the  sapphire  sea ;  Iphis  a  cord 
For  blind  Anaxaretes'  love,  and  for  that  cold 
Proud  Roman's  threat  the  subtle  poison'd 
Draught  fair  Sophonisba  drained  ; 
Hero  of  Sestos  on  her  sea-girt  tower  waits 
Sadly  in  vain  ;  she  sees  Leander's  corse, 
And  casts  her  body  headlong  in  the  surge  j 
With  poignard  point  at  breast,  and  bated  breath, 
Slow  sliding  o'er  the  bloodstain'd  grass 
Dies  Thisbe ;  and  so  'raid  lovers  holds 
The  palm  for  purest  love. 
For  me,  nor  fire,  nor  cord,  nor  poison'd  bowl — 
One  single  shock  shall  free  the  deathless  soul. 
Celia,  her  maid,  enters  and  tells  yulia  that  she  delivered  to  the  Fiiar  Aurelio  tti< 
'ettpr  in  which  Julia  said  that  she  would  die  rather  than  marry  Paris,  and  adds : 
My  grief  was  great 
To  see  Aurelio  weep,  for  at  each  word 
He  read  a  bitter  sigh  escaped  his  breast. 
His  cell  he  enter'd,  and  when  an  hour  had  gone 
Retum'd,  and  in  my  hand  this  phial  placed. 
And  said  that  thou  should'st  drink  the  juice 

It  doth  contain 

yulia  does  not  at  once  place  faith  in  the  Friar's  prescription,  but  Celia  replies : 
Thou  knowest,  lady,  he's  well  skill'd 
In  subtlety  of  herb  and  poisonous  weed, 
And  hath  a  fame  more  wide  than  all  Verona  holds. 
Still  Jtilia  is  not  convinced,  but  says : 

True,  he  is  learned  in  every  herb  that  springs. 
And  every  subtle  distillation,  too,  he  knows ; 
Should  this  be  weak,  and  should  its  charm 
Lead  me  to  love  the  Count,  and  so  Roselo  harm  ? 
However,  Celia  at  last  overcomes  the  distrust  of  her  mistress,  and  fulia  drinki 
Ihe  draught  in  the  belief  that  it  is  poison : 

yulia.     I  drink  the  draught ;  Celia,  farewell ! 
I  die  Roselo's  own  true  wife ;  this  truly  tell !  .  .  .   . 
Hah!  the  confection  works  through  all  my  veins; 
My  quaking  flesh  doth  creep,  my  very  soul 
Seems  torn  from  out  its  earthly  home  ! 
Oh  heavens  !  some  poison  Aurelio  hath  distilled ! 
Hast  given  me  the  potion  that  he  sent  ? 

Celia.     That,  lady,  only  which  Aurelio  did  command. 

yulia.    Methinks  some  sad  deceit,  and  he 
Hath  changed  the  draught :  the  fluid  works 
Upon  my  bursting  heart  as  rankest  poison  might. 

Celia.     Didst  drink  it  all,  sweet  child? 

yulia     Each  drugged  drop,  unto  the  last 

Celia.     WTiat  feel  you  now  ? 


LOPE   DE    VEGA.  475 

Julia.    That  every  vein  doth  throb  and  burst, 
And  every  breath  comes  thick  and  hard ; 
A  crushing  weight  doth  rest  upon  my  heart ; 
Oh,  heavens,  Celia! 

Celia.     Sweet  lady ! 

yulia.   Madness  now  seems  to  seize  my  beating  brain ! 

Celia.     What  treachery's  this  ?     Would  I  had  ne'er  been  bom 
To  be  the  messenger  of  ill,  sweet  girl ! 

Julia.     I  would  thou' dst  brought  it  earlier.     Oh,  sweet  sleep! 
Tell  my  Roselo  not  my  death  to  weep. 

Celia.     Alas !  alas !  dear  lady,  I — 

'Julia.   Tell  him  I  died  his  own  true  loving  wife ; 
Tell  him  I  wait  him  mid  the  starry  host ; 
Tell  him  I  died  with  woman's  truth — 
I  could  not  live  to  be  another's  bride. 
Tell  him  ne'er  to  forget  his  Julia — luckless  maid ! 
Nor  let  her  love  e'er  from  his  living  memory  fade. 

Celia.     What  cruel  agony ! — what  moisture  rests, 
Like  swollen  dewdrops,  on  her  gentle  brow  ! 

Julia.   My  feet  refuse  their  office — I  cannot  stand ! 

Celia.     Come,  come,  rest  upon  thy  couch  and  sleep ; 
'Twill  soon  pass  o'er — let  me  lead  thee  in. 

Julia.     I  know  not !     Oh,  sad  end  to  all  my  love  I 
And  yet  I  die  consoled — we'll  meet  above. 
Celia,  write  tenderly  to  my  husband  when  I'm  dead ; 
And — and — 

Celia.     What  says  my  Julia — mistress  dear  ? 

Julia.   I  know  not  what  I  spake.     'Tis  sad  to  die 
So  young. 

Celia.     Come,  sweet  lady — come,  rest  upon  thy  couch. 

Julia.   Father,  adieu !     I  am  Roselo's,  and  forever  now 
I'm  his  alone ; — dear  Celia,  wipe  my  brow. 

Celia.     Come,  gentle  lady ;  come,  I'll  lead  thee  in. 

Julia.   I  cannot  stand !     Oh,  farewell,  my  husband ! 
My  only  love !  sweet  husband.     Ah  !  \^Ex  eum. 

In  the  next  scene  Anselmo  finds  Roselo  wandenng  disconsolately  in  the  streets  of 
Ferrara,  and  tells  him  how 

Antonio  to  his  daughter  did  propose 

This  marriage  with  the  Count ;  but  neither 

His  commands,  the  gentler  sway  of  friends, 

Nor  word  of  kinsmen  could  persuade  her  aught 

To  sigh  the  magic  '  Yes.' 

Her  father  using  high  authority  and  sway. 

Perforce  she  yields,  and,  the  betrothal  fixed. 

The  night  did  see  the  vestures  of  brocade 

And  gold  in  hottest  haste  prepared, 

The  torches  lighted,  Paris  by  her  side  attends, 

WTien  Julia  swoons  as  one  with  mortal  sickness  struck. 

And  falls  ?.-S  dead. 


476  APPENDIX. 

Roselo.     W.lat !  my  own  sweet  Julia  dead  ? 
Anselmo.     Hush !  I  did  due  caution  hold,  and  said 
That  thou  shouldst  listen.     She  fell  as  dead. 

Roselo.  How  can  I  listen  if  my  love  lies  dead? 
Anselmo.  Thy  Julia  lives. 
^xnselmo  then  proceeds  to  tell  of  the  mourning  and  weeping,  and  the  funeral;  all 
the  while  Roselo  is  in  an  agony  of  impatience;  at  last  Anselmo  tells  how  Friir 
Aurelio  sought  him  out  and  divulged  the  nature  of  the  potion  Julia  had  taken, 
which  would  '  bring  two  days  and  nights  of  deathly  slumber  to  the  heart,'  and  that 
he  must  seek  out  Roselo  and  bid  him  hasten  to  the  tomb,  and  on  her  awakening  fly 
with  Julia  to  France  or  Spain.  The  scene  ends  with  some  poor  fun  from  Marin, 
who  is  the  clown  of  the  piece. 

The  next  scene  discloses  the  Lord  of  Verona  trying  to  console  Count  Paris :  they 
are  interrupted  by  Antonio,  who  enters  to  announce  that  Julia  being  dead,  and  all 
his  vast  possessions  needing  an  inheritor,  he  had  resolved  to  comply  with  the  wishes 
of  his  kin  and  marry  his  niece,  Dorotea,  who  responds  to  his  offer,  and  that  he  is  now 
only  awaiting  a  dispensation  from  Rome.  The  Lord  of  Verona  and  Paris  at  once 
heartily  congratulate  him,  and  he  leaves  them  to  visit  his  '  young  bride,' 

Scene  iv.  The  Vault  beneath  the  Church  of  Verona.  Julia  awakes,  and  is  terri- 
fied at  her  situation,  scarcely  knowing  whether  she  be  alive  or  dead ;  at  last  memory 
returns,  and  she  remembers  the  Friar's  potion.  Just  then,  seeing  a  flickering  light 
enter  the  tomb,  she  retires  to  a  corner  of  the  vault,  and  Roselo  comes  forward  with  a 
lantern,  and  Marin  following : 

Marin.     Pray  leave  me  here,  'tis  more  discreet, 
I'll  guard  the  door  that's  nearest  to  the  street. 
Roselo,     Anselmo's  there ;  .  .  .  . 

\\Tiy  stand  aghast  and  look 
So  pale  and  tremble  ? 

Marin.     'Twere  better  that  the  Bishop  with  his  train 

Should  come  with  holy  water  first 

Ah  1  I  feel  a  touch  upon  my  arm  ! 

\Overturns  the  lantern  and  extinguishes  the  light, 
Roselo.     Accursed  be  thy  clumsy  hand  and  foot ! 
Marin.     Assist  me,  Holy  Mother,  all  the  saints  give  aid. 
1  feel  I'm  dead  and  buried,  with  mouldy  corpses  laid. 
Roselo.     Silence  !  some  one  speaks. 
Marin.    Oh  !  did  you  hear  a  corpse's  voice  ? 
Julia  {aside. \     No  doubt  Aurelio's  potion  did  contain 
Some  sweet  confection  wooing  without  pain 
Death's  counterfeit,  soft  slumber. 
And  in  this  house  of  death  they've  laid  me. 

Roselo.     Again  the  whisper  of  a  human  voice. 
Marin.    Oh,  good  San  Pablo  and  San  Lucas, 
Et  ne  nos  inducas — 

Roselo.     Here,  trembling  fool,  this  lantern  take. 
And  in  the  chapel  of  the  church  above 
Thoult  find  a  light. 

Marin.     How  can  I  venture  there  alone,  for  note  you  nx 
How  unnervt  \  I  am  ?     I  feel  both  cold  and  hot. 


LOPE   DE    VEGA.  477 

Roselo.     Cease  thy  coward  words,  and  go  at  once. 

Marin.    Good  gracious  !  who  again  hath  touch'd  my  aim  ?  .  ,  .  , 

Roselo.     What  can  be  done  ? 

Marin.    How  should  I  know  ? 

Roselo.     Canst  touch  the  wall  ? 

Marin.    Ugh !     In  the  nape  of  the  neck  I've  touched 
A  cold  and  clammy  corpse,  oh  dear  ! 
San  Bias,  Antonio,  all  the  saints,  oh  hear ! 

Roselo.     How  now  ? 

Marin.    Ugh  !     I  touched  it  now ;  so  fat  and  soft, 
A  friar's  paunch,  I'll  swear.     Ah,  here  a  skull  I 
It  seems  an  ass's,  'tis  so  big ;  I  feel 
As  if  his  teeth  were  fixed  upon  my  heel. 

Roselo.     What !— teeth  ? 

Marin.    I  tremble,  know  not  what  I  say  or  iear; 
I  put  my  finger  'tween  the  stones  all  broken  here, 
And  thought  'twas  something  gnawing  at  my  flesh — 
^^^l0  touches  me  again — oh,  dear ! 

Roselo,     Where  have  they  laid  Otavio's  lifeless  corse  ? 

Marin.    Why  speak  of  that  just  now,  good  sir  ? 
Oh  help!  .... 

yulia  [aside).     Alas!  alas!  no  hiding-place  I  see ; 
They  come,  :Jas  1  and  whither  shall  I  go  ? — 
Gentlemen,  pray,  say  are  ye  alive  or  no  ?       [Roselo  and  Marin  fatt  down. 

Marin.    I'm  not  alive ;  in  fact,  I'm  sure  I'm  dead. 

Roselo.     Who  speaks  of  death  with  such  melodious  voice  ?  .  .  .  , 
Sweet  Love,  illumine  with  thy  magic  fire ! 

Marin.    I  wish  Love  would ;  these  dead  men  here 
Like  droning  bees  go  buzzing  by  your  ear, 
First  right,  then  left,  but  give  no  light  to  cheer. 

Roselo.     Courage,  we'll  shout.     Sweet  Julia,  love  I 

Marin.    We'll  suppose  Otavio  hears  you  call, 
Hv,'ll  wake  the  drowsy  dead,  both  great  and  small. 

Roselo.     My  Julia,  sweetest  love  and  wife  I 

Julia  [aside).     That  voice ! — it  brings  assurance  to  my  heart' 
But  if  it  be  Otavio's  voice,  I'll  call. 
And  solve  all  doubt.     Otavio,  speak. 

Marin.    They  call  Otavio,  and  we're  dead  men  now. 

Roselo.     I'm  not  Otavio,  nor  his  shadow'd  self. 

Julia.     Who  art  thou,  then  ? 

Roselo.     Roselo  Montes. 

Julia.     Roselo  ? 

Roselo.     Dost  doubt  ? 

Julia.  Some  token  give  in  proof. 
Roselo  then  goes  on  to  say  that  Anselmo  told  him  all  about  the  potion  that  the 
Friar  had  sent  to  her.  This,  however,  by  no  means  allays  Julians  mistrust,  and  she 
asks  what  was  her  last  token  to  Roselo  ;  he  replies  that  it  was  a  precious  relic.  Nor 
does  this  satisfy  her,  but  she  demands  to  know  what  present  Roselo  gave  to  her ; 
again  he  tells  her.     Tten  she  asks  still  further  what  was  given  the  next  day ;  with 


47S  APPENDIX. 

equal  readiness  Roselo  answers,  'the  diamond  jewel  which  doth  clasp  my  plume'. 
yului  confesses  that  these  proofs  are  '  most  certain,'  and  yet  she  would  like  to  know 
how  she  addressed  her  first  letter  to  him.  Marin  has  lost  his  patience  by  this  time 
and  breaks  forth:  '  More  questions  in  this  murky,  musty  place!'  Roselo,  however, 
answers  glibly  and  correctly,  and  then  yulia  says,  'Approach,  dear  husband  of  my 
soul.'  They  are  now  anxious  to  leave  the  tomb,  and  Roselo  appeals  to  yulia  to  devise 
the  means. 

yulia.     It  will  be  wise  we  still  go  well  disguised ; 

So  long  as  these  sad  ills  pursue, 

At  the  farm  which  my  dear  father  owns. 

Two  labourers'  dresses  will  be  good  masquerade 

Roselo.    Let  us  forth,  sweet  Julia 

O  Fortune  fair,  upon  our  true  Icve  smile.  \Exettnt. 

Antonio,  while  waiting  to  receive  from  the  Pope  the  dispensation  for  his  marriage 
with  Dorotea,  decides  to  live  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Verona,  with  his  bride ;  and 
the  fifth  and  last  scene  opens  at  a  farm-house,  where  all  is  bustle  and  preparation  in 
anticipation  of  Antonio's  visit.  Anselmo,  Roselo,  yulia,  and  Marin  enter,  (lisguised 
as  villagers,  with  slouched  hats,  reaping-hooks,  etc.,  and- ask  to  be  hired  as  servants, 
according  to  their  several  capacities.  The  young  hostess  welcomes  them,  and  tells 
the  reason  of  the  unwonted  stir. 

Roselo  {apart  to  yulia.)     Hearest  thou,  sweet  wife? 
yulia  {apart  to  Roselo.)     Ah,  sad,  unhappy  me  ! 
Ansdmo  {apart  to  yilia.)     Thy  father,  then,  will  wed  again. 
Thy  patrimony  lost,  and  I 
Then  left  alone  to  pine  without  my  Dorotea, 
Whom  I  have  loved  since  that  sweet  night 
When  mask'd  we  danced  till  morning's  light. 

yulia  {apart  to  Anselmo.)     Great  Heaven  ordaineth  all  things 
As  it  will. 
They  separate,  yulia  to  enter  upon  household  duties,  and  Roselo  and  Anselmo  to 
work  in  the  fields. 

Antonio  immediately  arrives,  and,  after  some  banter  with  the  hostess  on  his 
approaching  marriage,  he  is  left  alone ;  and,  while  wondering  at  the  delay  of  Dorotea 
in  joining  him,  and  congratulating  himself  that  his  age  restrains  him  from  acting  the 
impatient  lover,  a  noise  is  heard  above. 

Preserve  me.  Heaven,  what  noise  is  that  ? 

Sure  'tis  the  thunder's  echo  that  I  hear ! 

It  seems  as  if  the  wheels  of  sound 

Had  snapp'd  their  axles,  and  in  one  dread  crash 

Tumbled  in  atoms  to  the  earth. 

The  strength  of  blood  is  not  so  sound 

In  creeping  age  as  'tis  in  lusty  youth ; 

My  hair  doth  stand  on  end  in  truth. 

yulia  {unseen  above.)     Father,  father! 

Antonio.     Great  heavens,  I  know  that  voice,  'tis— 

yulia.     Father ! 

Artonio.     'Tis  Julia's  voice,  or  fear  creates  the  sound. 


LOPE   DE  VEGA.  479 

Julia.     Listen,  ungrateful  father  mine, 
If  thou  hast  ears  to  hear ;  from  out 
Beyond  the  clouds  of  death  I  speak ! 

Antonio,     It  is,  indeed,  my  Julia's  voice  ! 
Julia.     Hast  thou  forgotten  all,  that  thou  canst  doubt 
Thy  daughter's  voice  ? 

Antonio,     Where  art  thou,  child,  and  what  thy  wish  ? 
Julia.     From  the  bright  world  of  seraphim  I  come 
To  hold  discourse  with  thee. 

Antonio.     Sweet  child,  thy  words  I  hear,  but  seeming  night 
Dcth  cheat  me  of  thy  face  the  sight. 

Julia.     Barest  thou  look  upon  tne  form  I  bear  ? 
Antonio.     No,  I  should  die ;  speak,  say  on. 
Julia.     'Twas  thee  alone  who  caused  my  death. 
Antonio.     I  caused  thy  death,  oh,  heavens !  how ! 
Julia.     Didst  not  seek  to  wed  me  'gainst  my  will  ? 
Julia  then  proceeds  to  tell  her  father  of  her  love  and  secret  marriage.     Wherc- 
opon  her  father  shifts  the  blame  on  her,  for  not  having  come  to  him  and  confessed 
rH,  and  that  he  never  could  have  held  out  against  her  showers  of  tears.     Julia  pleads 
that  *  bewildered  joys  imagined  dangers  dark,'  and  she  preferred  death. 
But,  father,  thou  wilt  wedded  be  anon : 
Accept  a  daughter's  prayers.     I'd  have 
Thee  wed,  forgetting  me  and  all  my  faults ; 
But  should  my  memory  fragrance  hold, 
Forgive  my  nusband,  and  in  peace  remain 
For  my  poor  sake ;  oh !  seek  not  to  destroy 
The  heart  I  love,  or  at  each  coming  night 
I'll  hover  o'er  thy  couch  with  torment,  till  the  light 
Compels  me  to  be  gone. 
After  having  told  her  father  that  her  husband's  name  is  Roselo  Monies,  she  bids 
him  farewell.    Antonio  calls  after  her  that,  for  her  sake,  he  will  hold  Roselo  as  a  son 
for  evermore. 

Teobaldo,  Dorotea,  Count  Paris,  and  soldiers  with  halberds  enter,  guarding  An- 
telmo,  Roselo,  and  Marin  as  prisoners. 

Teobaldo,  greatly  excited,  tells  how  Roselo  was  discovered,  in  spite  of  his  dis- 
guise, and  wishes  at  once  to  decide  upon  the  manner  of  his  death. 
Consider  we  anon  what  death  he  dies  ? 
Shall  he  be  tied  both  hand  and  foo*. 
To  yonder  tree,  and  each  an  arrow  shoot  ? 
Or  will  you  slay  him  with  your  sword  or  gun  ? 
Speak,  Antonio,  and  let  the  deed  be  done  !' 
Antonio,  to  their  astonishment,  says  that  Roselo  must  not  die ;  and  then  relates 
what  Julians  spirit  'from  just  above  the  roof  had  told  him,  and  winds  up  with 
urgently  begging  Teobaldo  to  give  his  daughter  Dorotea  to  Roselo,  so  that  peace  may 
be  confirmed  between  the  rival  houses.    Count  Paris  also  joins  his  entreaties  to  those 
of  Antonic  ;   Teobaldo  replies, 

If  peace  by  heaven  thus  shall  be  ordain'd, 
Roselo,  take  her  as  thy  wife. 


480  APPENDIX. 

Enter  JULIA. 

yulia.     No,  not  so ;  wouldst  thou,  traitor, 
Wed  two  wives  ? 
To  the  exclamations  of  wonder  that  burst  from  all,  Julia  replies,  that    die  is  alive 
ud  in  the  flesh,'  and  that  her  death  was  only  simulated. 

Roitlo.     Once  rescued  from  the  grave,  she's  twice 
My  wedded  wife. 

Count.     And  then  twice  over  should  she  wedded  be. 

Antonio.     My  hand,  Roselo  ;  and  to  thee,  dear  child, 
My  arms. 

Julia.     Wait,  dear  father,  first  my  cousin  there 
Shall  have  the  husband  of  her  choice. 

Teobaldo.     And  who  is  he,  I  pray  ? 

Julia.     Anselmo. 

Anselmo.     And  that  is  me ;  I  am  prepared 
With  list  of  all  my  virtues,  gold,  and  gems. 
And  lands. 

Antonio.     Enough,  let's  join  their  hands. 

Marin.     And  I,  with  all  my  virtues,  where 
Shall  I  find  one  my  cares  to  share, 
The  fright  I  had  upon  that  awful  day. 
When  I  dragg'd  forth  from  death  yon  mortal  clay. 

Julia.     Celia  is  thine ;  a  thousand  ducats,  too. 

Roielo.    Good  senators,  here,  I  pray  'tis  understood 
Tbe  Castelvines  ends  in  happiest  mood. 


ri»JTS. 


/ 


0 


aiNDiNG  SECT.     FEB 2  9 1«D 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 


UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY 


PR  Shakespeare,   i^illiam 

2753  a  new  variorum  edition  of 

F8  Shakespeare 

v.l 

cop. 2 


94-